


I will be foil to you

by TheonlyDan



Category: Real Person Fiction, Within Temptation (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Incest, Infidelity, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: She leaned in and rasped to your ear, “I know you want me to kiss you, but you need to be the one starting it.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Sharon den Adel/Original Female Character, Sharon den Adel/You
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters. This is just a work of fiction. All faults were mine and mine only.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She would smell like cheap soap and shampoo but the scent would somehow be better on her. She would offer you a drink. You’d get drunk and tomorrow morning you’d wake up in her bed.  
> No. You were not going to fall for it.

_Foil (noun): something or someone that makes another's good or bad qualities more noticeable._

She was the one who taught you how to use makeup. She was your role model for a very long time.

Until she kissed you.

Now and then you still thought about that kiss. It happened when Sharon was applying lipstick onto your teenaged lips. It was sudden and wrong (but breathless and so _good_ ), not because Sharon was—technically—your mother’s sister. It was because you were both _girls_.

The mother-side of your family was chaotic. There were a lot of infidelities, divorces, and marrying women half of the men’s age. That was why despite Sharon was your aunt, she was only seven years older than you.

But it didn’t make any of that right.

_People like us have nothing to hide. You’d understand someday._

Those words echoed in your head like your mind was a broken record. When you were doing chores around the house, recognizing other beautiful moms when doing pick-ups, making mechanical love, you wondered what Sharon meant by that.

And maybe you wondered what it would felt like if Sharon kissed you again.

***

“Wow, she’s already getting married? So soon!”

It came loud and clear from the other end of the speaker. Your mother glanced at you from the living room. You kept on doing the dishes, expression blank. She failed to notice your rigid hand, and looked away in satisfaction, “Well, sis, I’m afraid that if we don’t marry Y/N off, she’s going to idle all day.”

“At least give the girl a moment to do some thinking. She’s still in her twenties—”

“Now what do you know? You’re single yourself, aren’t you?”

The other end of the line grew quiet. Your mother smirked.

It was already too much information. You let out a shaky breath. Your face felt hot.

“I’m too busy working on the bread. It’s a tough environment for people like us.”

 _People like us._ A rush of thrill and nervousness struck. You suddenly wanted to take off your engagement ring.

“I guess you’re right. If I could only imagine what a doggy-dog-world it is. How’s your startup doing?”

“Oh, it’s not a startup now.”

You listened colorlessly. The conversation was animated, the kind of talk that belonged to strangers.

***

The days went by in an ecstatic sense of doom. Then the wedding came. The whole ceremony was smooth and pale like the skin of your cheeks. Beneath the armor of makeup and wedding dress, you never felt this vulnerable. Everyone came, including Sharon who was (obviously) fucking the bridesmaid for all you cared. Derek was as considerate as always. His patience didn’t waver when he secured the ring on your finger. It felt more like a warning than a promise when he flinched, with a murmur of _why is your hand so cold_ that only you and the priest could hear. You smiled at the tall, handsome groom, and wished your expression was a hopeful one.

Derek frowned and smiled hesitantly, and it was the prelude of the storm.

***

You couldn’t reach orgasm with your husband. And it was the least you should worry about. Derek drifted further apart just before your mother was discovered sick.

Pancreatic cancer, stage 3.

Barren after you had been married for five years, you were a housewife, and now the sole caretaker to your mother. There were pros and cons of having no siblings.

“Is she coming?”

“Who?” Caught off-guarded, you glanced at your mother, “Did you say something?”

“Yes. I mean, is she…” Wan and thin, your mother fumbled with her words, half-irritated as if she was impatient with herself, “Sharon. Is she coming.”

“Oh. Um, she hasn’t reached out as far as I could remember.”

Your mother muttered something too crude to your liking, so you decided to let it slide. Sickness always exposes the worst of people. You continued to organize the medical kit on the bedside table. You wondered if you should substitute the withering flowers with the artificial ones.

“At least I have you.”

Quietly, the gray-haired woman spoke. You spun around. Your mother locked eyes with you, and you blinked when tears brimmed to fall. You saw the tenderness behind the façade of a stern lioness.

“I’ll call her. I’ll call Sharon.”

***

Sharon flew in three days later. Turned out she was too absorbed in her expanding business, that she was completely unaware of her sister’s ailment.

_I’m so sorry, sweet. I’ll come as soon as I can._

You repressed a wave of nausea at how mysterious and attentive Sharon sounded on the phone. How could someone have such an effect on somebody, even after all these years?

She hadn’t changed a single bit. Her foxlike eyes, her slim, willowy figure, her walk, which was sure and proud like she was _prancing_ with a femininity that always stole your attention. The others in the airport were gone. The clatters and warm greetings were gone, only Sharon with her immaculate style and hair, emerging from the crowd and eclipsing all.

When she walked closer, you found she had changed her brown hair from straight to chestnut-curls, subtle and neat after hours of flight. Her glow of youth was slightly dimmer as you detected the lines around her mouth and eyes. The look in her eyes was still the same—dark, wistful, shining with a playful smirk.

“Gosh, Y/N.” She shook her head, and her voice was hushed, almost unfamiliar, “How long has it been, three years?”

“Five.”

Sharon opened her mouth to say something. Then she changed her mind at the last moment.

“You look thinner.”

She remarked instead, adding a firm, uneasy grip around the handle of her luggage. You didn’t know what kind of look passed over your face. Judging by the wince from the taller woman, you guessed it was a mixture of displeasure and weariness.

“It’s late. Let’s go.”

***

The worst wasn’t picking up your aunt. It was catching your husband with another woman _as_ the two of you arrived home.

Sharon’s expression was unreadable. Rage was supposed to be essential if one ever experienced disloyalty, but all you could muster were shame and bitterness. Derek, after pulling his pants up his waist, fled like he used to do. The air smelled of semen and sweat. Before you could get a better look at your husband’s mistress, the mousy woman scurried off of your property. You almost pitied the younger girl.

Then you set Sharon up in the guest room. It was smaller than the rest of the rooms in your house, and it had everything except a shower.

“How long have you known?”

“Excuse me?”

You snapped. The obtrusive brunet glanced back, unabashed as she dropped her belongings on the single bed.

“Derek and his…lover.”

“I have no idea.”

“It didn’t seem that way.”

“It’s none of your fucking business. You were never here. You can’t just come and…and…”

Shivering and stammering with rage storming in tenfold, you were blank with red-hot anger. Before you knew how, something clouded up your senses and you were in Sharon’s personal space. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t look afraid. Her painted lips were pinched together thinly. You could smell her business-like perfume, a scent you were eager to analyze and refuse to recognize.

“I’m sorry. I…I apologize.” Your mouth moved on its own accord. You backed off, and the air was breathable again. “That was awfully rude of me.”

“It’s alright. It’s been a long day. I—”

“I’ll leave you to unpack. Good night.”

Then you left the sputtering woman by herself. You never felt more alone.

***

Later that night, the noises from the bathroom weren’t the reason that kept you awake. It was the unfamiliar weight beside you. Derek knew that it would make things look bad if he slept on the couch. He had transformed from a loving husband to your comrade of saving face.

The last time he slept with you was exactly one year ago. That thought, twined with the images of Sharon showering, haunted you all night.

***

The next morning went by in peace. Sharon helped with a few things before setting up the table. You ran to get your husband. Derek had probably turned his alarm off again. You could only blame it on Monday-blues.

Sharon didn’t wear any fragrance, and her makeup was light. No fake-lashes or eyeliner, just a few strokes of cherry-blush which made her look young. Almost childish. Or maybe her jeans and sweatshirt instead of the blouse and slacks from yesterday.

The ride with your aunt was also peaceful. You exchanged words of courtesy, avoiding certain subjects so you wouldn’t have to tip-toe around. Five years was a gigantic gap. You talked nonstop with measured speed. Neither of you was too excited to catch up under this kind of circumstance.

“When was the last time we talked?”

“Maybe on my wedding day. Jesus.” From your peripheral vision, Sharon grimaced theatrically. With a faint smile you asked back, “And when was the last time you talked with my mother?”

Silence. You tightened your grasp upon the steering wheel. Just one more red light, and this ride could end.

When the lights turn green, Sharon finally answered.

“We never really talked.”

***

Turned out the price of a talk was graver than expected. Like a considerate daughter/niece you were, you left the sisters in private. You took good use of the time to chat with another family, whose family member suffered similar illness your mother did. Before you could go to the restroom, three nurses rushed into your mother’s ward. The next thing you knew they were wheeling your mother into the direction of the ER.

“What happened?”

Those high-noted words didn’t sound like yours. Sharon ran with you after your mother. One of the medics answered _myocardial infarction_ and you couldn’t understand.

“She’s never had a heart attack before.”

Sharon said. Or maybe it was another nurse, you weren’t sure. All you could see was the oxygen-masked face, belonging to the body that looked too small in the white, ruffled hospital bed.

Then the operation room slammed shut in front of your face. A nurse huddled close to you, trying to explain something but you could only see her lips moving. Her voice was like bells ringing through dawn, or the screams that tear sluggishly through water. The nurse also tried to steer you somewhere, and you were suddenly angry. You were outraged that they were keeping you from your mother. You were angry that you had been the only one who needed to go through this ordeal, to see someone you loved suffer. You were angry for being powerless. Maybe if you went into the operation room you could do something. You shook away the pesky nurse and charged at the door.

Someone dragged you back forcefully. You lost your balance but the same person caught you. You were beyond confused when you see a pair of brown, hypnotic eyes staring at you.

“Y/N, stop this.”

Sharon’s face was stoic but her voice was softer than expected. You came to your senses and broke away from her warm hold.

“What the hell were you talking about?”

The older woman went blank. Then she realized you were referring to her talk with your mother. Her face darkened. The nurse walked away. You couldn’t blame the nurse for not wanting anything to do with family drama. You wanted to apologize to her for your rudeness that was uncalled for. Your face felt hot in embarrassment. Your lips were too dry. Wondering why Sharon hadn’t said a thing, you gazed at her. Then you were mesmerized.

You had never seen her like this. Always bright and ready for a challenge, there was instead a strange, agonizing look on Sharon’s face. For a second you couldn’t recognize her. Something like an electric current went straight into your heart from your stomach.

“I told her about what I am.”

Her gaze was piercing. It was as if she was telling you, that you should also tell your mother about who you were.

But you didn’t even know who you were.

“How could you be so selfish?” You spat, “I mean, coming out to her _now_ at this particular time when—”

“Or would you rather not tell her, and keep that all to yourself until she dies?” Fended Sharon, almost arctic.

“She’s not going to die!”

“There’s no need to shout—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Forcing your voice down, you growled, “She’s going to live and that’s that. Your sexuality doesn’t matter. You’re not in the center of the universe anymore. If you think you’re so important, just get out of our lives and mind your own business.”

Shock and hurt fleeted across her face. Then there was nothing, like she was a void, a smooth granite of façade. In her eyes you could only see your reflection, and the effects of your words. They ricocheted in the air and echoed “ _harsh_ ”.

“Sure, I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”

She turned on her heels and walked away. You regretted what you said already. You hoped she’d be levelheaded enough to save the remnants of your doings.

You wanted to chase after her, but you stood immobilized. All you could do was staring at her silhouette, thinner and thinner under the white, severe lights. It struck you that your mother may be the only family Sharon had left. A strong sense of remorse and loss made you weak in the knees. You sank into a nearby seat.

For a long time, there was nothing to do other than wait.

***

It was razer-cold outside but the hotel lobby was warm. Warm colors everywhere—fake furnace imitating flames on wood, cheap chandelier with a yellow glow, miniature bar with the lights turned off, shaky counter made of synthetic wood, sofa with a middle-aged, three-piece-suit man talking flatly on his phone. You didn’t need to listen close to hear a woman screaming on the other end.

“May I help you?”

The vacant counter now had a young clerk behind. He had a natural apologetic look, as if he knew you were startled and felt sorry for whatever tragedy that took place in your life. Uneasiness aside, you moved toward him.

“Is it ok if I visit a friend?”

“Of course!” Said the clerk with a practiced, civil smile, “Feel free the take the elevator. It’s on your right-hand side. Do you know which room your friend is staying in?”

“Oh,” You became flustered for no reason, “Actually, I do. Thank you.”

His gaze, in your imagination, became lustrous and suspicious. You knew it was all in your head. You pushed the elevator button, and for a moment, you thought the clerk was going to scold you for pressing down too hard.

Then you went into the metal box, glanced at the clerk who disappeared again, and hoped you were never here in the first place.

***

Sharon was in room 505. The door was unlocked. The shower was on. You couldn’t help thinking how mediocre this was. You knew the next thing you were going to see was a naked/poorly-covered woman walking out of the bathroom. She would smell like cheap soap and shampoo but the scent would somehow be better on her. She would offer you a drink. You’d get drunk and tomorrow morning you’d wake up in her bed.

No. You were not going to fall for it. You positioned yourself on the couch, which was at a healthy distance from the bed. The room was warm. You took off your coat and threw it sideways. After coming back from the hospital, you had to change into a sweater and leggings. The smell of bleach and alcohol was too pungent.

The plastic bathroom door opened with a loud creak. Mist flowed in idle motion with the robe-wrapped brunet; she moved like a ballet dancer, with a nonchalant expression while drying her hair.

Then she saw you.

“Y/N.”

Her cheeks were red. The faraway-look in her eyes refocused on your presence. Her voice was distant.

“Sharon.”

You regarded her coolly. After your mother was safe from the surgery, you went home and found Sharon gone. You couldn’t tell if you were more disappointed or angry.

A note was on the table. It had an address and an _I’m sorry_ in exquisite handwriting.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable.” Said your aunt, getting rid of her bathrobe then slipping her pajamas on. You tried not to be irked by her lack of attention. Your adventure on the emotional-rollercoaster had worn you down. “How is my dear sister?”

“Would you just…stop this?” Sharon paused from buttoning her top. It was scarlet-red, material satin. She turned around and gave you a long stare. You rubbed your temples and continued, “It’s been a really long day.”

Casting your gaze downward, you grabbed your coat and hugged it close to your chest. When you looked up, she was still gazing at you.

“Headache?”

“Migraine. Probably because of the temperature changes throughout the day…”

You trailed off as she walked towards you, a few buttons still undone. Somehow you couldn’t see her clearly; she glowed with a mythical aura. Everything dimmed to support her presence.

Wordless, she found your hair tie and tugged it off. Your hair went loose and you realized maybe you’d grown them too long. Sharon’s body felt warm before you. You knew you should do things other than gazing up at her, but she then threaded her hands into your hair. You let out a sigh when her fingertips did wonders to your scalp. The pressure was perfect. The strain disappeared from the back of your eyes, to the back of your head.

“Better?”

“Yes.” You choked out a response. She chuckled at the blissful look breaking off of your face.

It lasted less than two minutes. Sharon’s phone rang, and without hesitation she slipped away. You opened your eyes and took a deep breath. Her touch was imprinted over you. You hugged your coat tighter, raked your hair from your face, then gazed at the older woman. Sharon was answering the call with an entirely different persona. Her tone was sharper and her words were brief. She gave some sort of crisp conclusion to the caller. The other end mumbled on. Sharon snapped; you jumped, witnessing her face darken with impatience. She quickly sent you an apological look. You were stunned by Sharon’s ability to alter between a businesswoman and a…family member? Friend?

Were you even _friends_?

Knowing the thoughts in your head, Sharon winked at you.

“Let me call you back, Ferguson. And once I do, you better have fixed that statement.” Purred Sharon before she hung up. You stared. Sharon cocked her head.

“Well?”

“What?”

You asked back, forgetting why you were here in the first place. Sharon smiled a little too wide, and plopped herself on the bed.

“Jesus Christ.” Sharon sighed to the ceiling, “Sorry for that phone call. My sister is dying and they wouldn’t even give me a break.”

“You can choose, you know.” You shifted upon the d-word, too tired to call Sharon out on that ominous word choice, “You are the boss so surely, you have some tricks.”

“How do you ever choose between family and work?” Muttered Sharon. You went silent. There was something rare and raw in those words. Putting away your coat so you’d have something to do, you pondered if you should just cut to the chase.

“What would you do if you were me?” Asked Sharon.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I would like to think that you and I, are actually very similar. We simply make the exact opposite decisions.”

The brunet got up from her position, maneuvered, and had her back against the pillows. She hugged her knees to her chest. You wrung your hands together tightly, as if the pain could do any good for coming up with an answer. Sharon was watching you with tentativeness.

Good god, what were you doing?

Both of you were full-grown adults, and it was cowardly of you to continue this hide-and-seek. The worst that could happen tonight: you two never speak again for the rest of your life.

“If I were you, I would come back immediately instead of pretending that everything’s fine back home.” You stared sharply at Sharon. She didn’t waver under your gaze. Sitting straighter, you carried on, “I would take good care of my family. I would rather _not_ risk anything that might worsen the situation.”

“And there is the thing that makes us so different.” Without missing a beat, Sharon answered matter-of-factly, “You see, I am a self-made businesswoman. I take risks for a living.”

“You would risk your sister’s life for…whatever your agenda was?”

“If that _agenda_ matches both parties’ interest, then yes, I will take the risk.”

“Sharon,” You softened your voice but you only sounded more pretentious, “My mom means the world to me. You can’t just…selfishly come out to her—”

“Do you know how ironic you sound like?” You snapped your mouth shut. You couldn’t believe that Sharon picked now to antagonize. Her stare was fiery, and her voice didn’t tremble, “It’s not _selfish_ of me to do that. Selfish, is keeping a secret so you could continue something that wasn’t real. Selfish is telling yourself everything would be ok as long as you keep pretending. Selfish—”

“Then what do you want!” Blood boiling, you stood up from your seat and threw your hands up like you were surrendering, “What the hell do you want? What is your _interest_ , big-shot career-woman?”

“All I want is to do the right thing!” Sharon raised her voice to your level, “You and your mom are the only family I have left. The way I live…the way _you_ live, you are going to regret it.”

“Oh so you think got the moral high ground don’t you? You only want to do the right thing _for yourself._ What would you do if you were me, huh?” You approached her by the bed. Sharon’s expression told many things apart from the fact you must look mad, “What would you do if you had to hide yourself so everything would be fine? When you need to hold things together even if they were crumbling all at once?”

“Y/N, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down.”

Sharon was frowning and you hated that look on her. She was meant to be no one to you. She didn’t have the right to be _concerned_.

Sharon got up from the bed, and placed her foot on the floor one after the other. It reminded you of how you hated her unapologetic attitude.

“Why is it that every time you manage to make me look like the crazy one? You know why I’m here? It’s because you left a fucking note, so mature, that _I_ have to come to you in this crappy hotel to tell you how my mother—your sister, is doing!”

“And how is she doing?”

Your mouth went ajar. You swallowed your words back. Your heart was still thundering in your chest. Your breath was running short. You had never been this riled up for as long as you could remember. Switching as quickly as possible, you answered although your voice was still a bit unsteady, “She is stable now.”

“How long does she have?”

“Four months, maybe a week. It’s hard to tell. Here, I have the doctor’s number…”

“No need.” Sharon caught your hand halfway and stopped you from checking your phone. She didn’t say anything about your hand being cold. She kept on holding, wordless, gaze soft. “I already have it. I know…everything I need to know.”

“Ok.” You gulped awkwardly, “Great. It’s late. I have to go.”

But Sharon pulled you closer, and held you with both of her hands. Her attitude was totally messing with your head. Whenever you tried to resist, she’d pull you back and break whatever defense you had.

“I would tell my mother I can’t be with a man I don’t love, if I was you.” She whispered, eyes darker than the night, “I’d tell her I like girls more. I’d say to her I love you but you have to let me go. I would tell her I have always had a crush on my aunt.”

Small stars were twinkling in her orbs, and judging the laugh-lines deepening around her eyes, you could tell that she was trying to lighten the mood. But it made you more nervous in a different way.

“Well I am not so sure about that last part.”

You joked, and were glad that you didn’t stutter. Sharon smirked.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our little frisky adventure.” Sharon feigned a pout before she withdrew her hands. She turned to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle of mineral water.

“What?” You shook your head but you knew exactly what Sharon was talking about. Shit. You knew where this was going but you didn’t want it to stop. You felt hot and cold all at once.

“Seriously? Of all the things you can deny…” Sharon lowered her tone while uncapping the bottle. The veins of her hand only contrasted to her smooth, alabaster hands. After successfully unscrewing the bottle, she smiled in triumph, showing a little too much teeth, “…You chose the part where you deny your attraction to me?”

You were flushing hard. There seemed no point to hide. To Sharon you were utterly transparent, yet you knew nothing about her.

“Yes, yes of course I remember that kiss between us.” You said exasperatedly, “And I’m not going to pin everything on you because I know what I did. I kissed back, ok?”

Sharon was taking her time savoring her water, smug as ever.

“Now are you satisfied, _auntie_?”

“Ouch.” Pretending like she was wounded, Sharon clutched her chest with a painful look, “I didn’t see you playing the age-card there.”

You laughed, “Communication is never our family trait. We belly everything until it blows up at family reunions. Same thing every year. No exceptions.”

“That’s right.” Sharon sighed, “But damn, drama is fun.”

She looked at you with sparks in her eyes, an unguarded smile hanging loose on her face. It was like you weighed more than her work, her company, her obligations. You wanted to avert her gaze but you couldn’t. You could finally find yourself, right there in Sharon’s eyes, where you mattered bigger than yourself.

“So just to be clear…you really don’t have feelings for me?”

“I—” The correct answer was _no_ , goddamn it. You’d been lying all your life, so why couldn’t you persist with this one? Your internal struggle could be seen all over your face, because Sharon had that “sorry look” on her face again. You pursed your lips.

“I know we’ve been…estranged, Y/N.” Sharon raised a palm in front of her like she wanted to stop you from attacking her, “And I know I don’t have the position to—”

“Yeah, you really don’t.”

“Just hear me out, please.” Her voice was pathetically low, “I don’t have the chance to do this very often. Indulge me.”

You were both curious and annoyed. Sharon knew where your buttons were and she certainly knew how to push them, even better than yourself. She sat on the mattress and patted the vacant spot beside her. You sat down, feeling ridiculous and agitated. She shifted closer but stopped once you shot her a warning look. Everything was already too late; you had given her the power—the power to break the boundaries.

“Well, you have me in your bed now, so talk.”

You wished you were icy but you were trembling. Sharon’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Maybe you were making her nervous, too.

“Have you ever heard the term _messiah complex_?”

“I am not sure if I’m going to like where this is going…”

“Oh, no you probably will not.” Sharon flashed an unpleasant smile, “Messiah complex is also called savior complex, and it means that you feel the need to save the others. You might tend to seek those who are desperately in need of help, so you could assist them. People who have savior complex often sacrifice themselves for those who need saving.”

“Well, is it a mental disease?”

“Technically, no. But if you have schizophrenia—I doubt you were schizophrenic since you aren’t old enough to deserve that…” You rolled your eyes with the tiniest smirk that didn’t go lost to Sharon. She continued methodically, “All in all, the kind of psychological issue I mentioned is usually acquired by people with schizophrenia and bipolar disorders. Now there’s another one called _martyr complex_ —”

“When did you decide to become a shrink?”

Sharon gave you a pointed look, and sighed, “Dated a psychologist. Trust me, it was not as fun and romantic like the TVs. Now where was I? Martyr complex—victim complex, is the desire to be a martyr. You may find that you’ve been a masochist seeking pain because A, it fulfills a psychical need, or B, it satisfies your desire to avoid responsibility. Because when we hear the term martyr, we shift the blame onto the others, right?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Your heart was beating faster and faster. Your palms were cold and clammy. Tension was knotting in the air. You could taste it. It made you sick and dizzy. A deadly weight was tugging at your stomach.

Sharon didn’t speak right away; she had taken back her patronizing look. Maybe you preferred that look because her expression now made you afraid. No traces of laughter could be found. Her lips were pressed together, forming a cold line. The lights in her eyes were blown out, replaced by frosts that could bite, frosts that stung like fire. You squirmed, and she still said nothing.

It was kind enough for her to be enlightening you here, but you were scared that she seemed so cruel. You were glad you didn’t fall for her in any way. Not until now did you know that, you have just glimpsed into who she really was.

But maybe the more you told yourself to not get involved, the deeper you sank.

“If I was who you thought I am…” Your voice sounded strange, and your soul didn’t feel like it was in the right place, “Then what does that say about you?”

Sharon’s chest was heaving steadily, a little shallow. You could see the blue-green pulse in her neck at this angle. Her expression was incomprehensible. What could be on that intelligent, horribly complex mind of hers, was beyond your understanding.

Then the other woman smiled, so wide and sudden that your breath hitched. It wasn’t a kind smile; it was like she was doomed for tomorrow but she was fine with it. It was a smile of tiredness, emptiness in the eyes, a smile of players who acted they were still having fun.

“You caught me.” She sounded genuinely happy, “I recognize you because, I may have seen a part of me in you. We’re both survivors after all. I know how unsettling everything sounds, but hey, humans are a mess.”

“I know my defaults, Sharon. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to shine a light on my problems and in some miraculous ways, _help_ me change.” Sharon was looking at you with a dark look, almost like she was playing the part of a seductress. You felt like your tongue was made of lead. You continued with difficulty, “I keep things where they were. I keep things bottled up for my own reasons, and I would be very happy if you stop…whatever this is you’re doing.”

“You mean I should stop forcing you to face yourself?”

“Exactly.” You deadpanned. No matter how difficult that was for your ego, you managed to say it out loud. “I’ve never done that to you, and I have no plans to do that to you in the future. So I would be very thankful if you could reciprocate.”

Sharon raised a brow. It took you a nanosecond to blush at your own words.

“All right.” Said Sharon concisely before she got to her feet, all done in swift fashion.

“All right?”

“I have to say you really impressed me.”

You frowned. You stood up and went to your coat while Sharon went fishing for her beauty products.

“All of this is a test, right?”

She didn’t help you to your coat, and you didn’t expect her to. The hand-warmers in your pockets were still lukewarm.

“What do you think?” Chirped Sharon. Holding a few travel-sized items in her hands, she grinned. You huffed. But you couldn’t say you didn’t feel relieved.

“I think I damn well passed it. And seriously, you’re sick.” You shook your head, not disapproving but in amazement. You walked slowly to the door, “No offense, but you are sick enough to be a crazy person.”

“Then what does that say about you?” Imitated Sharon, in a tone that was very childish.

“Don’t mock me, only I can do that to myself.”

One foot away from the door, you turned around and found how close Sharon was standing behind. She was looking at you like _that_ again. Fuck. With those _stars_ in her pretty brown eyes. You relished in her attention, even if you wanted to scream _please find someone else to manipulate_.

“What do you really want from me?”

You said with all seriousness, puzzled. Sharon knew what you were talking about. Something flashed by her face, for a second you thought she was going to answer you with that “real Sharon” you discovered a few moments ago.

“How about a goodnight kiss?”

She smirked, her stance slanting into a casual posture. You sighed. You were so naïve that you forgot she was still a stranger to you.

“Fine.” You stepped in and brushed your lips against her left—your right—cheek. Then you regained your former position, cocked your brows and asked, “There. Satisfied?”

Sharon didn’t speak. Even if she was surprised, she concealed it well.

She lifted her hand and automatically, you flinched and took a step back, just at where she wanted you. Sharon inched close and your back was against the door. Her breath smelled like peppermint and there was just the faintest trace of business perfume still lingering. Her hand that was in midair now landed on your throat, and you swore you whimpered to that contact. Fire in flux swirled in her eyes. She stared at you—just stared and did nothing—with a frenzied look, like devouring you was not enough. She wasn’t exactly choking you; you were simply out of breath because she was so close and you could feel her breasts pressed against your coat, her heartbeats below her fingertips, and her warmth that reminded you there was heat pooling between your legs.

That thought shocked you. It was wrong to want your mother’s sister. It was _sick_.

_You are sick enough to be a crazy person._

_Then what does that say about you?_

“Do you want me to kiss you, Y/N?”

She muttered. You licked your lips. Her eyes tracked your movements.

“I really shouldn’t.” You said breathily, because her hand just left your neck, and went to your left cheek. She stroked your skin, and you could feel your blood rushing to your face.

“Don’t you want revenge on your husband?” Smirked Sharon, using her forefinger to angle your chin up so your head could tilt sideways. She brushed the hair from your neck. She leaned in and rasped to your ear, “I know you want me to kiss you, but you need to be the one starting it.

“Why?” You asked after stifling a gasp, high on the seductress’ presence. Sharon smiled. You turned your head just in time to meet her misty, heavy gaze.

“Oh honey…” She purred, “How could I be the only one who takes the blame? If you were going to have an affair, _you_ need to be the initiator.”

“Is this still a test?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You searched her eyes, but she had already searched yours. She knew your answer. The next instant your nose bumped into her face but your lips on the other hand, sang a song that was designed for sinners. You were gripping the collar of her pajamas and her hand was in your hair. She was soft on you after you went rough. Her hand was on your waist under your coat. One breath could be wasted for nothing or be wasted on this. Wasted on her quiver when you experimentally scraped your teeth against her bottom lip. Wasted on your lightheadedness when her tongue caressed your lips and it felt electrifying.

_If this is crazy. Then I love crazy._

Sharon was a really good kisser. And a graceful one, you came to the conclusion, after you used up that one breath. Her eyes were gleaming and her lips were pink and moist. Her collar was wrinkled, and you smoothed it out, avoiding her amused gaze. She didn’t touch you again.

“Congratulations. You made a cheater out of me.”

“I didn’t. _We_ did. _We_ passed the test.” Sharon smirked, taking a step back so she could leave you in your personal space. You mirrored her smile, and it was the first time you smiled so freely in the past few years.

Playfully walking backward, Sharon said, “Monsters aren’t born, they’re made.”

“Goodnight to you, too, Dr. Frankenstein. It’s a shame people wouldn’t even remember my name.”

“You don’t have one, my creature.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were so wet and it had been too long, so your pride could go fuck itself when you desperately needed any kind of friction.  
> “Your impatience is just as much as your eagerness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut happened after OC went through a great deal of loss and fucked-up stuff.

_Machiavellian (adjective): being or acting under the principles of government analyzed in Machiavelli's The Prince, in which political expediency is placed above morality._

Sharon stayed at _Champs-Élysées_ (that was the name of the hotel) and the ideal arrangement was that every morning, you two would meet up at the hotel lobby. She’d say _thanks_ as you handed her the hot cup of coffee you brewed, and you would drive the both of you to the hospital, residual warmness in your palms.

The drives were mostly quiet, but from time to time you talk. Sharon’s work, your marriage, her chaotic relationships—it mostly revolved around Sharon. She did the talking most of the time. You learned that Sharon was a bastard child until your grandfather took her and her mother in. She learned about your pseudonym.

You never discussed nor repeated the kiss; it was more of a peace-offering than an act of indiscretion.

But peace never lasted long.

Your mother was in comatose throughout the day; the only sign of her living were the steady beeps of the monitor, or when she was roused by discomfort or nightmares. Your mother now relied wholly on the feeding tube. It hurt you to see her suffering like this. Mother was always the pillar of your family since your father left. She rubbed pebbles into your wounds so you could heal faster. She laughed at your tears so you could learn better. She was always there whenever you needed her.

At some point you became numb to the sadness.

Sharon’s words from that night came to you from time to time. It was true, all it.

You hid under the name of giving. After the sacrifices brought no effect, of course you’d start to feel nothing. Sharon could see she was right about you, and she honored your agreement—she did nothing to interfere with you and your pain.

Peace ended on a Monday, two weeks after Sharon flew in. Your mother passed away in her sleep and you wished it was painless. You didn’t cry. Sharon did silently, and it was the first time you see her cry.

***

“You can’t just leave!” You shouted, shrill over the phone, “Sharon, she died. _Your sister_ died. Today. And you have to go because of work?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Answered Sharon, unemotional, “I’m sorry, but it is imperative.”

“Imperative?” You repeated, “What is it about? Why do you have to go especially _now_?”

“It is a... fairly significant business transaction.”

“Is there anything I could do to make you stay?”

The second those words left your mouth, you regretted it. Deafening silence followed. It occurred to you that you never begged anyone. Sharon must know that.

Sharon had the responsibility to stay and it was her fault to leave, not yours.

“I’m terribly sorry, Y/N.”

Then she hung up. There must be something up with her, but you shouldn’t care. You walked about the empty house, the numbness you’d been guarding unraveling. Derek came home and told you how sorry he was. You told him you were ok. You make several calls for arrangements. Your mother’s body. Transportation. Funeral director. Derek helped.

After things came into a momentary settle, you made you two sandwiches. You broke down in the kitchen, crying silently, your husband taking a shower upstairs.

Tears tasted bitter than you thought; it was probably because you didn’t know how to grieve.

You started to look at apartments for rental.

***

The reception after the funeral was big. You were sure it was what your mother would have wanted; family gathering together, inappropriate jokes about the deceased with laughter of courtesy. Everyone was having an excessive amount of sympathy, trying to strike connections that were long gone.

Sharon didn’t come.

The day ended with you talking to Derek about divorce. He was relieved that you brought it up.

It was all over. Derek wished you the best and hoped you could stay until you find a job. It was too kind of him, but you knew he meant it. It was why you loved him in the first place.

You insisted on moving out. Mother left you a sum of money. Adding the royalties from your last book, there would be a month or two for you to find a job before you go broke.

***

Two weeks after the funeral, you moved downtown.

The flat was tiny but it had everything. After all the unloading and unboxing, the room didn’t feel remotely small. It felt like a place you belonged. You leaned on the kitchen counter, lit a cigarette with the stove, and looked over your newly arranged space. It had a bedroom, a shower, a living room, an overly large window with a view of a mud-yellow building, staring back at you right across the street. It promised you to be a prime witness if your neighbor got murdered.

The traffic was loud. Some people were fighting outside. Your neighbors were playing music.

Three cigarettes after, you started to look for jobs online. Derek texted to make sure you were ok. He also wanted to let you know Sharon called the house. You texted back that everything was fine, and you would be appreciative of him if he didn’t tell Sharon where you lived.

Derek said he already did. You sighed at that.

Sometimes certain ties were meant to be, no matter how little you cared about them.

***

It was no surprise when you went home from two failed job interviews, and found Sharon standing in front of the door to your room. Your gaze locked and you didn’t know what that was in Sharon’s eyes. Hope would be absurd. Regret would be superfluous. So would be affection.

“Hey.”

She said carefully. You ignored her. You fished the keys from your purse. Your heart was thumping to your throat. Damn her for her perfume and magazine-look and bringing that nostalgic sadness in you. It was like nothing had changed.

Sharon’s eyes followed your erratic movements, and she commented nothing. You left the door ajar as you marched in. She hesitated by the door. By the time you flung the keys on the counter, she wandered inside. She still commented nothing.

“It’s rude to just show up at someone’s door, unannounced.”

You said after you turned the heater up. Normally you wouldn’t waste money on that kind of luxury, but there stood Sharon with her coat and bag and her exquisite makeup. Beautiful things were your soft spot.

“I know.” Relieved after you finally fixed her a look, Sharon rushed, “I had to see you.”

“Are you going to stay long?”

Sharon hesitated. You took off your coat, hung them, and said flatly, “Or is this about some business meeting and out of guilt, you decided to pop by and say hello?”

Her face ashen.

“Is this a bad time?”

She answered enough. You smiled wryly, “I need to take a shower. I smell like pizza.”

Sharon quickly recovered. She made a face and shrugged, “I’ll wait.”

“Make yourself at home, then.”

***

A heavenly smell welcomed you as you walked out of the shower.

“You ordered takeout?”

“I tried, Y/N. Really tried.” Rolling up her sleeves, Sharon said in faux exhaustion, “But after seeing all that organic crap in your fridge, I lost my drive. I almost lost my appetite, too.”

“But I thought you can’t cook?”

Drying your hair, you sat beside Sharon and marveled at the Chinese piling up the table. Your stomach growled. You could count the times you ordered takeout with one hand. Sharon tied her hair in a ponytail and answered, “After you performed that eggroll trick, I got inspired.”

“Awww, you learned to cook because of me?” You cooed, noticing the marks upon Sharon’s wrists. Maybe she did learn to cook so that could explain the burn-marks.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Sharon snickered and unfolded her sleeves before you could take a better look at the scabs.

“Now eat and after you regain all that weight…” Sharon eyed you from head to toe, shook her head, and finally commented, “You’re gonna have to fill me in on everything.”

***

The dinner went quietly for almost half-an-hour. It was nice to be having company again. Truth was, it had been a long time for you to be so satisfied with food.

After your mother passed, you became obsessed with controlling your diet. You tried to work out regularly although the exercises were excruciating as hell. Health became the most important thing; you knew you had to care about your body because _you_ were the only one you got.

“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

You cringed at how loud you sounded. Sharon stopped typing, looked up from her screen, and put away her phone. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. You took the opportunity to steal a good look at her.

Sharon den Adel was a classic beauty. Her elegance wasn’t made with pretense; it was in her feline movements and body posture. Her features were delicate. Her face was the perfect shape of oval and diamond. Her smooth skin was a tone lighter than olive. Her brows were high-arched, stylishly trimmed. Her nose was straight-edged, in the perfect proportion with her plump, red lips. She was exquisitely made.

But Sharon looked exhausted. The makeup failed to cover the dark circles beneath her eyes. She had a pallid gleam which wasn’t caused by the dull lights in the room.

“Am I ravishing enough to distract you from actually knowing what happened?”

You jolted out of your thoughts, and flushed furiously. Sharon chuckled.

“I thought I am supposed to be the one who does the asking. You look well by the way.”

“Thanks.”

She laid back to the couch, boneless with a drowsy smile. You put down the chopsticks, stood up and stretched. Sharon didn’t look away.

“Something to drink?” You asked while walking towards the kitchen, “Water? Whiskey? Vodka? Wine?”

“I was under the impression that you split everything with Derek. I guess I was wrong.” Sharon drawled. You huffed, opening the liquor cabinet and grabbed the closest bottle. It was almost empty.

“Chardonnay it is.” You announced, “Derek prefers beer. Plus, he knew I would need to blow off some steam. Moving here is rough.”

“I bet.”

“Guess you won’t need an update then.” You set the glasses on the table after you gathered the boxes of leftovers, “He must have told you everything.”

“Yeah.” Sharon sighed, moving forward so she could help herself to a glass, “Have you gotten the divorce papers yet?”

“All in due time, Sharon.” You mumbled, fastidiously pouring the alcohol, “All in due time.”

“Can’t wait.”

You shot her a warning look while taking a sip of the wine.

“Don’t change the subject. And you know what? You should’ve at least show up. Mom would be glad if you did.”

“Too bad she’s not here anymore.”

“And that just went out of the line.” You set your jaw, letting the displeasure show, “I hope it was worth it, you choosing not to come. I hope it was as important as the time you left when she died.”

Sharon’s smile froze. She finished her drink in a swig. You watched the knot in her throat move, and thought there were bruises. But in your rage you could’ve seen anything.

“Yes, well, that was that.” She said airily, “Speaking of…I have something to show you…”

As you were about to snap, she took out an envelope and a business-ish presentation folder. She flipped the navy-blue folder open. There was a picture of an anonymous old man staring back at you. Beneath that photo, there were more papers. You were baffled by the scene. It was like Sharon was hiring you as a contract-killer.

“I know you’re looking for a job, so I thought this would be perfect for you. Biography, due in eight months, first draft in four. Here’s the down payment.”

She handed you the envelope. It was formal and thin, you noticed. Still trying to make sense of the situation, you pulled the content out. It was a check with a number that had too many zeros.

You gawked at the businesswoman.

“What’s this?” You asked, “Is this what you came for? Offer me a ticket to rich people’s wars?”

Sharon raised a brow, mildly impressed.

“I’m here to offer you a chance. A job. And of course, to look out for you, see how you’re doing—”

“Bullshit. Tell me this has nothing to do with that _significant business transaction_ of yours.”

“It’s not.”

“Liar.” You put down your glass in an angry _clang_ , “I know it’s all connected. You came here, bought me dinner and thought we’re good again, but nothing has changed. The world still hasn’t revolved around you.”

“Stop projecting yourself onto others, Y/N. You only think you want the truth, but you actually want things you want to hear. You want to hear me say how regretful I was for not going to the funeral. You want me to say I am here because of guilt. I’m not going to say that because we both know better.”

Sharon’s stare could cut glass, but the look in her eyes was calm and calculated; not cold, because her passion made up for everything. You answered with a gulp, “Even if you think I don’t want to hear it—and you’re right by the way—I need to know what happened.”

Sharon smiled. Wide and wild. For a second you thought she had gone mad, then you remembered she was already crazy. _A beautiful maniac_.

“How about…” With that smile which made her eyes sparkle, Sharon shifted close to you, expectant, “We cut a deal?”

“What do you mean?”

Alarms were going off in your head. Your hands were cold and sweaty. You gripped the side of your elbows. You felt like spiraling down a cliff, fully aware of what was down there was much worse after you hit the ground.

But fuck, it felt good to be alive. It was like a part of Sharon had rubbed off on you. She could sense it. Her gaze was fanatical and almost loving. If you took this out of context, Sharon would look exactly like she was about to have sex with you.

“A truth for you to say yes.” Tempted the brown-haired Mephistopheles, “It’s a fair deal. If you regretted and decide not to finish the book, you still get the payment you saw. The only risks are, yes you might never sever yourself with _our_ world once you agreed…” Sharon used a dramatic air-quote gesture, “And maybe you couldn’t stomach the truth. Either way, you are the winner…materialistically speaking.”

Sharon’s face was inches away. Her knee was touching your thigh. The look in her eyes was beginning to engulf you whole.

_“Yes.”_

The smile on the brunet deepened.

“Very well.”

She snatched the folder close, produced a fountain pen out of nowhere, filtered through the documents and picked a piece of paper out. It felt exhilarating to be in the spotlight of Sharon’s attention.

“Sign here.” Sharon pointed at the bottom of the paper. You didn’t have to look to know—it was where the dotted line was.

You took the pen. It warmed your fingers because it still had Sharon’s heat on it. Somehow it brought you comfort.

“Is it ill-advised that I do this without a lawyer?”

“Oh honey…” Sharon smirked, losing the first button of her blouse like she wanted to unwind, “Take a leap of faith.”

“I’m fully aware that I’m trust-falling here.” You muttered, signing a strange, distorted version of your name on the sheet. You could feel the glee radiating from the opposite woman. _God, what are you doing?_

“Now I believe it’s my turn to fulfill my end of the bargain, correct?”

“Enough with the jargons—Sharon!”

You hissed once you saw what she was doing. Standing proud, her shirt was almost completely undone. You had to force yourself to look only at her face. You stood up, grabbed her wrist and dragged her into your bedroom.

“What were you doing?” You let go after the coast was clear, “There is no curtain! My neighbor could’ve seen you…like this!”

In her heels, slacks, white shirt dangling loose upon her torso (you could see her red bra), Sharon shrugged. She let her hair down and said, “Their loss.”

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring you, Sharon answered, “The shortened version of that transaction, which I must fulfill from the day my sister died…”

She stepped out of her heels, still stripping. You never felt so naked in your life.

She went on, “…Is that I agreed to put myself under Mr. Cunningham’s govern for four weekends. You’ll soon learn about Alan Cunningham since you are going to write a book for him.”

“What in the god’s name happened…” You stammered.

Sharon was now down to her underwear and bra.

There were bruises and cuts all over her body. Arms, chest, abdomen, thighs, shins. You didn’t miss the scars from her wrists. And the bruises on her throat.

Things were starting to make sense now.

“Simply put, he could do whatever he wanted with me at those times. It was a shallowed, unromantic version of Fifty Shades. Sorry to disappoint.”

You switched your attention from Sharon’s tattered body to her eyes. You tried to find that blot within her soul, but all you found was candidness and glass—toughened glass shielding her from hurting, protecting her for too long that maybe she forgot what it was like to be hurt.

“You are wondering this should be the time I break down.” Sharon observed, “You’re thinking what kind of monster I am, isn’t it?”

Some of the wounds were fresh, but most of them were healed. It made you less worried. You took a step forward and Sharon didn’t back away nor flinch. You traced a cut from Sharon’s collarbone to her bosom. The cut was scabbed brown, and it felt coarse and violent beneath your fingertips.

“This is almost healed.” You husked, “Does it still hurt? The rest of the these?”

Sharon didn’t answer. You glanced up and found her expression impassive. Only her eyes revealed her zealous interest.

But her cheeks were flushed red. Her eyes were glazed, like she had missed that cup of coffee in the morning. You could feel her heart drumming fast. You could smell the heady perfume thrumming off of her, making you want to bury your nose in her neck. You walked carefully behind her, then saw her back didn’t escape from being blemished. Sweeping away her brown locks, there were bruises on the nape of her neck, like constellations. There were more. Her back was the map of stars, directing you to the darkest night.

“Did you get what you want?” You asked silently. Your breath hit her skin, and before your eyes, waves of goosebumps erupted over her upper arm.

Sharon gave a soundless exhalation. You walked back to where you started.

“Almost.” Answered the older woman. She held your gaze.

“Would you ever get what you want?”

Speechlessness looked exotic on Sharon’s face. Her mouth went agape. You tiptoed and sealed her lips with yours. Her words died in your mouth. Before you could flip out on whether she wanted the kiss or not, she was kissing back with the same degree of hunger. Chest to chest, you cupped her cheeks to get a better taste of her. Cheap Chardonnay intoxicated you more than it ever did.

Then it hit you, the desire and all. The things you chose to forget from the previous kiss with Sharon all came back, adding fuel to the fire. It had been forever since you allow yourself to succumb to lust.

Your hands skidded down to her waist, so maybe you could smooth the scars along the way. You ended up bringing her body flush against yours. Sharon’s breath hitched at the contact. Your hips jumped and inevitably ground forward. Sharon moaned. You quickly put some space between her and you.

“Can I take you to bed?”

Someone spoke, who was the raspy, irrational doppelganger of yourself. One side of Sharon’s bra-strap had fallen down, giving her a look of innocence and debauchery. She was kissed-dazed; even in her state she still managed to look empowering.

“How gentlewomanly of you.”

Regal, Sharon combed a strand of hair from her face. Her shadowy smile gave you a pause. You should act soon. You had a feeling that things might go awry.

“You can say no.” You tucked that strand of loose hair behind her ear, tender, knowing that Sharon hated all kinds of affectionate gesture, “This is not a part of our deal.”

“Is it not?”

She smirked, the mist in her eyes hardening into black glass. You took a step back. You lost your balance with a yelp and landed on your bed. You tried to get up but Sharon was quicker. Shoving a knee between your legs, she crawled on top of you. Looming over you wasn’t enough. She pinned both your hands down beside your head. You whimpered and wanted to put up a fight, but your limbs turned into mush.

The smile blooming upon your capturer’s face was unfriendly. It chilled your blood to liquid ice and sent a stream of heat down to your belly. You were already aching with unwanted desire.

“P…please.” You begged incoherently, “This is not in our deal.”

“I’m afraid that what’s done is done.”

Smug, Sharon shut you up with a kiss that made you moan and writhe, especially when she bit your lip and dragged it with her teeth, harsh enough to draw blood. You lurched, tears escaping your eyes and you hated how the pain made everything better, even it was wrong.

“You’re crying…” Sharon stopped. You squeezed your eyes shut. You could feel her concerned gaze. It was loaded. She shifted away. You immediately sat up, not facing her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought you’re not him.” You sniffled into your palms as you covered your face with shame. Then you broke into hysterical giggles.

“God I’m so fucking naïve.” You wiped your tears angrily and let your hands fall on your lap with a muted _slap_. You turned around to Sharon. She was alarmed. Seeing the look on your face, her eyes widened with comprehension.

“Oh, oh no Y/N…”

She put a hand on your shoulder. You jerked away from her touch.

“I thought you liked—”

“This is all a fucking game to you, isn’t it?” You seethed, “Knowing me so well, and you won’t stop until you turn me into you.”

Sharon hugged her arms and averted your eyes. She suddenly looked harmless. Vulnerable even. You screamed silently to yourself: _liar_.

“Of course I’m not _Cunningham_ …” Sharon spat that name out with difficulty. It was ironic since she was as dirty as what the name stood for. Clearly, she could see your thought on your face. Her expression went from sympathetic to imploring.

“I’m not him.” Sharon repeated firmly, “That’s why I need your help to bring him down.”

If she was lying, she’d be one hell of a good actress. You were bemused and desperate to believe her words. Sharon continued urgently, “It’s really not that hard to understand. You write for him, gather intel, I get intel from you, thus taking him out.”

“So this…” Gesturing the gap between you and her, you gradually recovered from word-loss, “This is all just a game for you. This Is still a transaction. Like what you and Cunningham had.”

“No!”

Sharon yelled and you winced. Sharon looked surprised at herself, too.

“Then tell me what’s so different between you and me. Tell me.”

You were icy; so was your heart, running colder and colder at the sight of Sharon trying to come up with an answer. She looked like an animal forced into a corner.

“It’s…it’s just not the same!”

Sharon’s voice cracked. Something shiny slide down her face. You were dumbfounded. Watching your reaction, she touched her own face in haste; once she understood it was a tear she stood up from the bed, facing you with her battered back.

Silence.

All except for your breathings, cars honking in the streets, and the sound of your neighbors’ TV. You watched Sharon’s shoulder blades from afar, thinking that she looked exactly like a butterfly fluttering, fighting against the nails while waiting for the dissection. Her fists were clenched white, so tightly you worried that her palms were going to bleed.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you’re right all along…” She sighed, defeated, “I don’t want to lose you. The only way to do that is to drag you into my world…to turn you into me.”

It dawned on you. _This_ was the truth she promised.

You didn’t want to lose her. But the only way to keep her is to change into her.

“How could that possibly justify for all this?”

You asked, walking behind her. She unclenched her fists. She exhaled shakily as you put your arms around her body.

“I don’t know.”

Answered Sharon, and it might be the most authentic thing you heard all evening. Sharon was still burning. You buried your face in the crook of her neck. Her hands found yours, and she held on. She just held on.

“Great.” You said, voice muffled against her skin. She shivered. You carried on, “Because I don’t fucking know either.”

Sharon chuckled quietly at that. The vibrations went down your spine and stirred a warm fuzz inside of you.

“Now we’re on the same page, aren’t we?”

She asked, gently untangling your hands. You braced yourself as she turned around.

It still felt like a slap on your face for how beautiful she was. Bathed in the glow of the pale-yellow light of your poorly lit room, she was a divinity with halo. Her scars only made her seem pure, like she was reborn. But what did it for you was that foreign smile—if it was _ordinary_ enough to be called a smile at all—dancing on her lips. Her eyes spoke of melancholy, like she’d been misunderstood for a thousand years. But her smile was saying that she would be fine if she was misread for a thousand more, as long as she had you. Only you.

“It’s nice that we’ve finally come to an agreement.”

You licked your lips before saying that. Recovering from that breathless episode wasn’t easy. Sharon grinned. She knew well about her effects on you.

“Let’s seal it with a kiss, then.”

You could never oppose that and this time it was sweet. Prepared, you sucked in a breath and you exhaled together through the kiss, giving oxygen to the sparks jumping off of your lips. Sparks could cause fire, fires big enough to destroy things beyond your comprehension. Like boundaries.

 _Boundaries_. It seemed like eons ago you were still holding on to that. Now you couldn’t care less as you kissed Sharon—your aunt, enemy and friend—with all your ardor. If her ultimate goal was to change you, she definitely made achievements.

Knowing how deep you’d sank made you more excited. You were already making noises in the back of your throat, and unlike the last time, Sharon kept her hands to herself. She just melted into your hold, patient. Your tongues made a rhythm with your lips. Your pulses were going overdrive.

“You know…” Sharon gasped after you broke apart. You wanted more; you craved contacts. You trailed kisses along the column of her neck. She tilted her head to grant you access, and continued, “If I remembered correctly, you asked if you could take me to bed.”

“Yeah-huh.” You mumbled against one of her cuts. Sharon shivered, her hands grasping your shoulders. _She likes pain._

You licked the cut. It tasted like iron and salt. She hissed and you could feel her nails sharp in your skin. It felt good to be marked. You dropped a kiss onto another bruise.

“I am just thinking that… _oh_ that feels good…” Sharon snuck her hands under your shirt when you sucked on a flawless spot of her skin.

“You like that?”

“Don’t be a tease.” Sharon squeezed your buttocks playfully. You squealed, raised your head and found her looking at you. Her stare was keen.

“Are you sure about this?”

Her pupils were dilated, and you were pretty sure you could smell her arousal. Or it might be yours. You knew you were also wet.

You nodded. You took your t-shirt off. Her gaze fell to your pale chest which was flushed red. Before you could regret it, you quickly took off your sweatpants. The bra and underwear weren’t a match, but it would make do.

“I think about you being naked all the time.” Confessed Sharon, not an ounce of bashfulness could be seen on her face. The ache intensified between your legs. She caressed your cheek like you were a fragile china-doll, and said, “I think about touching you.”

“It is wrong.”

You said shakily, barely functioning when all you wanted to do was shove her into the mattress and worship her. Make her feel good. _Cure_ her.

Sharon shook her head and closed her eyes. You went forward, pecked the corner of her mouth and took her hand. When she opened her eyes, the creases between her brows disappeared.

“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.” You guided her to the bed, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”

“Well I do hope you’re just doing research for your next book.” Unblinking, she laid down with obedience, “Religion is both overrated and underrated.”

“So is faith. People’s faith.” You unhooked her bra, casting it aside. Sharon’s breasts bounced free. There were burns on the skin there. Teeth marks around her areola. Tracing damages old and new with your lips, you continued, “It’s also wrong to touch myself, while thinking of you.”

Not sure if it was your actions or your words, Sharon arched into your caress. It was the sexiest sight you’d ever seen. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was ajar only no sound came out. You would say she looked blissful.

Palming her softness, you peppered a path of kisses down to her abdomen. Her muscles twitched hotly beneath you. _Who_ was carved onto the skin below the ribcage, disappearing into the hem of her underwear. You started to take away the only thing stopping you from reading the whole word. Sharon caught you staring at the word etched on her pelvis.

It said _Whore_.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Said Sharon, propping herself on her elbows with a haughty smile. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. She wasn’t actually proud of her scars. She was proud of her ability to suffer, just like you were.

You traced the lines still in angry-red. There was another word on her inner thigh. But it didn’t matter what kind of profanity it was. You dove and repeated the ritual of brushing your lips over the scar. You were re-giving the meanings to all of the marks.

Sharon watched intensively. Her expression changed.

“You see me now.” She croaked. She parted her legs, and you looked into her eyes before giving her entrance an open-mouthed kiss. She whimpered and thrashed. Your chin was coated with her arousal. You pushed her thighs further apart and sucked on her womanhood. She gave a silent scream, grabbing a fistful of bedsheets.

“You read me, but can you understand?”

The frown was back onto Sharon’s face but she was also smiling. You weren’t sure if she was about to come or cry. Just to be sure, you slipped two fingers into her slickness. While she accommodated to you, you answered, “I can’t.”

Sharon’s eyes were glassy again. No longer smiling, she collapsed. She bit her lip and buckled. You tried curling your fingers each time you filled her up; in between the sinister _sloshes_ , Sharon didn’t break eye-contact with you.

She was holding. She was waiting. You put your thumb on her engorged clit.

“But I’ll try.” Your other hand found hers in a steady clasp, “Don’t leave. I’m trying.”

“You’re… _fuck_ …too good for me.” She managed, cheeks pink. She was covered with a sheen of perspiration. You started to form patterns on her clitoris. Sharon cussed again and you loved how loud she got. You loved how wet and eager she was in your hands. Your wrists were getting sore. You started fucking her in earnest and thumbing her in unpredictable patterns. Sharon’s mouth fell open, thus losing her ability to continue with that _I-don’t-deserve-you_ nonsense.

You were all just the same. Dejected and hollow.

With the look in her eyes you knew she was close. Her orgasm was impending, slow and no doubt painful. Her grip on you was also painful, and you loved it. You loved sharing her pain. You loved having dominance over her.

“Come for me.” You ordered, plunging relentlessly. She did what she was told. She cried with her body spasming into an arc. Tremors exploded from her center, each one reducing her into a whimpering mess. Her abdomen muscles flexed. Her juices flowed, pooling onto your bedsheets, and you could feel her velvety muscles clenching and unclenching the digits of your fingers.

She pushed you away when the residual shocks became too much. You cleaned her up in case this was the last time you were this intimate. Sharon let you.

“Good gracious, Y/N.” She wheezed. The way she looked after sex made you want to make her come all over again. A lazy grin took ten years off her face. You smiled uncontrollably. Your anxiety subsided.

“I thought you’ve never been with a girl before?”

She asked, extending her hand as an invitation for you to join her. You laid down with her. It would be hard to wait for the throb to go away.

“I watch _porn_ on the _internet_. Do you know what those two things are, old man?”

Sharon swatted you on your arm. You giggled.

“How do you actually do that sixty-nine thing, anyway? It just looks absurd.”

You thought out loud, staring at your hole-ridden ceiling. From the corner of your eye, you found Sharon looking at you with a queer expression. You turned to her side.

“Any other position that you’re…curious about?”

Sharon asked. You studied her face, and your eyes turned as huge as saucers.

“Oh my god. Sharon den Adel, are you suggesting what I’m thinking about?”

“Depends what’s on that mind of yours.”

She wriggled her brows then she rose, lethargic and elegant, maneuvering with all her naked glory. Shyness overcame you with no reason; it was the older woman who was previously writhing under, not you.

“Hey, we can take it slow. I was only kidding.”

Said the other woman quickly, her hazel eyes wide and eagle-like. For a second you were overwhelmed. Seeing her looking at you like this was the same as staring at an angel. You didn’t know when you were going to turn into a pillar of salt.

“It’s alright, Y/N.”

She continued to promise sweet-nothings and you relaxed. Sharon touched your hair, brushed your hair sideways, left your shoulders bare. You remembered that you were only in a pair of bra and underwear; you could feel exactly how the fabric was constricting you. Every inch of your skin had awakened. Sharon traced the outline of your face. Her fingertips felt cool against your cheeks. Although the gesture calmed you down, you became nervous in a different way. _Jittery_. Maybe it was that soft, patient look Sharon was wearing now, reminding you _why_ she chose to be patient.

Sharon’s hands dipped lower. Your breaths quickened. Seeing that you didn’t say you want her to stop, she proceeded with the stroking. You were feverish, you realized, as she roamed all over you. Your neck, your chest, your breasts, your belly. Sharon was memorizing the curves and angles of your body. You shifted because you wanted to relieve the pressure between your legs. It only made it worse. She took note of that, and she laid next to you. You could feel her warm, voluptuous body pressed against your side. No longer looking into your eyes, her gaze swept all over your body, like she knew her hand wasn’t enough to satisfy you. She looked cautious and fascinated. Through her eyes, maybe you were really beautiful.

“Am I the first woman ever to touch you like this?”

Head in hand, Sharon was propping herself up so she could look at you. Her hand stopped at your right breast. You could feel your nipple pebbling against the fabric. You repressed the urge to push yourself into her palm, and answered, “Technically, yes.”

“Really?” The teasing glint made the browns iridescent, “Lucky me.”

Her voice was rich and low. You thought she was going to cup your breast but her fingers dipped into the cusp of your bra. It took you by surprise. You arched into that touch with a gasp. Electricity jolted off where she was touching. You hardened against her.

_Take me already please._

“So sensitive…” She murmured.

It was true. Her touches burned. You tilted your head so you wouldn’t have to look at her when she unfastened your bra. The air felt unfamiliar against your exposed upper section. Sharon took your breasts and added heavenly pressure. You tossed your head back when she tweaked the other nipple. It was humiliating to be toyed like this, and you liked it too much. You thrived in her attention. You wondered how many times the pleasure might multiply if she touched you down there, and she read your mind. Literally read it out loud.

“Do you masturbate a lot?”

“What sort of question was that?”

Sharon only smirked, her hand still fondling your bosoms. Her taut leg locked onto yours, so that she could keep your legs open and make your stay still. You gulped audibly, afraid to see how this was going.

“I remember when I was younger…” Sharon’s head rolled off her hand, and targeted her lips toward your ear. You shivered when she said, “I used to touch myself at least once a day.”

She nibbled your earlobe. You whimpered because it was the only thing you could do. Her breath tickled, sending lava-like arousal straight into your center. Sharon assaulted your neck with kisses, with ready licks and nips. You squirmed and you thought if she just touched your clit, or jam a finger into your pussy, you were going to come immediately. You would probably scream although you were mostly quiet in bed.

_Jesus, fuck me already._

“And how often do you do that nowadays?”

You panted, amazed by your own libido. Sharon smiled against your skin. As a reward, she grazed her teeth over a spot she just pecked. Her hand was traveling lower and lower. Your ears were humming with your heartbeats.

“Now, I found myself fantasizing about you touching yourself…at least once a day.”

Right on cue, her hand reached your core. You wondered if she could feel how damp the cloth was. Wooziness made you reckless, made you want to take her hand and shove it under your underwear, so you could feel how good it was if you grind your slick pussy into her hand.

“Listen, if you weren’t going to finish what you started then I will.”

You spluttered with all your remaining defiance, earning a harder nip on a tender spot below your ear. You gyrated your hip and it was amazing how long you’d hold that out.

The pressure was suddenly gone. You were about to protest when Sharon slipped her hand into your underwear, and dear god it felt _so_ good that you could feel yourself opening up for her as you bucked, wanting to swallow her fingers like a greedy dog in heat. You were so wet and it had been too long, so your pride could go fuck itself when you desperately needed any kind of friction.

“Your impatience is just as much as your eagerness.”

You groaned when Sharon drove two fingers in without preamble. You were soaked so it only stung a little before that giant coil in your lower tummy roared in hunger. Sharon chose now to focus all in on your pussy. She left the crook of your neck and watched. In your state you could only tell she enjoyed you suffering. It made you ashamed and more aroused. You stared at her with wanton. Sharon’s leg kept you in place efficiently. You were so desperate; your hips had minds of their own, gyrating and thrusting. You would do anything to come.

“You want more, baby girl?”

You nodded furiously, loving that pet name she gave you. Sharon seemed smug as she lined three fingers up with your wetness, and you gave a mixture between a sob and moan when she pushed them all inside. You were filled up with her digits. So full and tight. It took another second for you to reacquaint with the pressure. Sharon waited for you, a feral look on her face and you knew she was also looking forward to your orgasm.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this.” Breathed Sharon, like she was in awe of the mess you made, and how wild you’d become. You pushed yourself onto Sharon’s fingers at her compliment. Your chest was heaving fast. The room was spinning, while your peripheral vision was in a haze. If you disengage from the fact Sharon had her knuckles deep inside of your drooling pussy, you would say you had been roofied.

“Ready to go?”

Asked the brunet, voice thick, her long hair framing her face made her features half in the dark, half in mad splendor.

“Yes.” You choked, aching for Sharon. You arched your pussy into her to show how eager you were. Sharon’s gaze turned heavy. The teasing glint was replaced by determination. Your stomach did a strange tug at her transformation. Your toes curled when she moved. Waves of lightning threw you into the throes of ecstasy. Someone was making _ah_ _ah_ _ah_ noises that sounded lewd but then you figured it was you. You were tight and ripe, ready to come off that delicious delight with just a little bit _more_.

“Please…harder!” You wailed after she gave a particular hard plunge.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Sharon growled, “Give it to me.”

After that her fingers jammed relentlessly into your flushed pussy. It was loud, how much noises Sharon was making with you leaking onto hands. _Splat, splat, splat._ The room was filled with the smell of sex and the sounds of her fucking you. _Maybe the neighbors would hear._ Being aware of that might be why you were suddenly being shoved over the edge. The strings snapped in your lower belly; pain shot through your entire body. You trembled, falling into infinite currents of pleasure. You threw your head backward and screamed, seeing nothing but sensing everything: Sharon’s fingers ramming into your pussy. Sharon’s heated gaze on your shaking body. Sharon feeling how your walls seizured around her digits, so snug that she could barely move her fingers. Sharon holding you down so she could continue to give you the agonizing pleasure.

Spent, you gathered your breaths like you’d just finished a 10k marathon. After Sharon left your over-sensitive pussy, the air hit your wet center, cold and judging.

“Holy shit…” Sharon raised her hand, showing off the fluids glistening on her fingers, “You’re a wet girl, aren’t you?”

You only stare daggers at the smirking woman, too weak to say a thing. Sharon seemed really proud of herself, as she should be. You couldn’t remember the last time you came that hard.

“Well, that usually doesn’t happen very often.”

You said nonchalantly, trying to downplay Sharon’s efforts. She cocked a brow at you.

“Admit it. I certainly have my ways around women.”

You chortled at that. Sharon laid down on her stomach.

“Want me to prove that to you?”

Slow and deliberate, she started to suck onto her fingers, which were still covered with your arousal. You groaned in disbelief. You thought Sharon was above all that tacky seduction trope.

But then it wasn’t tacky anymore. You could only blame it on her nut-brown eyes swirling with a dangerous light, absorbing, hypnotizing you to feel things you never thought you could.

You licked your lips. She released her fingers with a _pop_ , and smiled wolfishly.

“A second round it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think of this fic!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She yanked your shirt up. Air hit your bare, trampled skin. Colors drained from her face.  
> “Y/N, what have you done?”

_Exitus ācta probat (Latin): The end justifies the means._

_—Ovid, Heroides_

The transaction began.

You convinced yourself you were doing the right thing.

You thought you were mentally prepared; you weren’t. You struggled with the demands from the editors, and Mr. Cunningham himself. The book-writing was unlike any writing you’d done, and was tediously unproductive.

Every time Sharon stopped by, you’d dine together for business. Sharon would make inquiries about the information Cunningham gave you, and rarely, she'd ask how you were holding up. You’d say you were fine, and she’d let it pass.

Sharon visited at least twice a month and she let you touch her at first. Then she became more distanced. Maybe she thought she could make it up to you by fucking you. You couldn’t resist the fantasy that she may care for you, so you didn’t resist.

Days bled into the third month you began to work for Mr. C. In one of your weekly appointments with him, your world crumbled into pieces.

***

“I know what you’ve been up to.” Said the wealthy man. You were in his office which overlooked the busiest part of the city. You shifted in your seat.

“Whatever do you mean, sir?”

He sent you a pointed look before he got up from his big oak desk. He strolled towards your side, and leaned by the table. He crossed his fingers, unhurried and patient, like a spider making its way to the prey.

“Sharon den Adel recommended you to me. And frankly, you’ve been doing a lousy job. I can easily find a thousand others to replace you.”

The man spoke in a low register, quiet and menacing. You gripped the armrest tight.

“And do you know why I’m still keeping you?”

You were so nervous that you could only shake your head. The older man smiled, almost fond, and put a hand on your shoulder. His gaze was cold and strong.

“Because I know what _she_ wants.” He inched closer to you; he smelled like expansive aftershave, “And I know exactly what she’s playing.”

You turned frigid under his touch.

“What do you want from me, sir?”

You asked, timid and no doubt getting flustered. Mr. C cocked his head at your reaction. A million things _zinged_ by your head. Images of Sharon being tormented by this man in degrading ways made you unwillingly aroused.

“Wrong question, Y/N.” His hand glided down your arm. Then he retreated. Goosebumps rose beneath your blouse. Your nipples were erected.

“The right thing to ask is, what do _you_ want from me?”

Mr. C stared levelly into your eyes. He would be handsome in his prime. Now, thirty years added cruel lines on his angular face and weight on his body. His suit was custom-made, and it indeed flattered his form.

“I want to know about the transaction between you and Sharon.”

You blurted out, startling yourself and not so to Cunningham. He was very much like Sharon—cool, collected, graceful, both predators at the top of the food chain.

“I see…that I have miscalculated your devotion to her.” Stated the older man, a hint of interest in his tone but no emotions in his eyes, “How very intriguing.”

Your heart was pumping fast in your chest. There was no chance of you to “win” whatsoever. Mr. C was as successful as Sharon, and in the business world, that meant he was just as ruthless and manipulative.

“Very well.” He stepped away from you, “How about, a _deal_?”

You waited for what he had to offer.

***

Three crisp taps on the door marked Sharon’s arrival. You continued your chopping. She would make her entry after she found the door was unlocked.

“What are you making?”

Shouted the voice from the living room. You went to the fridge to grab a second proportion of the vegetables.

“Bell peppers and chicken. Some onion bread and cheese.”

“Yum. What’s the occasion?”

She sauntered into the kitchen quietly. You had spoiled her with being able to walk about your place shoeless, because you always mopped your apartment clean. Sharon spent too much time in heels anyways.

“C’mon. It’s nothing fancy.” You grimaced as she pressed a thoughtless kiss on your cheek. You tried hard not to wince. Sharon may or may not have noticed that, because you kept your eyes trained on the steely blade of the kitchen knife. You could feel her gaze lingering on you before she looked away.

“So, need any help around here?”

***

Twenty minutes later you found your old spots on the couch and sat down. Sharon cocked a brow at the additional liquor in your hand. You just shrugged and asked, “You feel like vodka?”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

Sharon answered cheerfully. You quickly went to get another glass for the drink, so you could dodge her watchful eyes.

In the kitchen, you nearly broke the glass because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Then you really did break it when a _what’s wrong_ erupted behind you. Your cup slipped from your fingers and smashed into the sink. The sound was so brutal that it slit the night open, and you could see it bleed in your eyes.

“Shit.” You muttered, eager to pick up the pieces so you could avoid the woman behind you. Sharon tried to help. You stopped her by saying, “I got this.”

“Y/N.” Sharon touched your shoulder. You winced and fished the biggest chunk of the glass along with another splinter.

“Y/N!”

“What!” You barked. The fragments of the glass might clog the pipe, and you didn’t want to risk that trouble. You went on automatically. Sharon spun you around before you could save another piece from the sink.

“You are bleeding.”

Sharon said slowly. You stared at her. She was still as beautiful as the first time you saw her—when? You couldn’t remember.

She seized your hand and brought it in front of your face. There was a gash bleeding steadfastly on your palm. You didn’t feel the pain and now it came to you like a long-lost sensation.

Sharon grabbed a fistful of kitchen paper and pressed it on your cut. The white was quickly colored red.

“You have a first-aid around?”

You nodded. Sharon waited.

“Well, where is it?”

Blinking once, twice, you answered, “Um, it’s uh, it’s in that cupboard, next to the ones with cereals.”

Sharon became concerned rather than annoyed. Her gaze swept over your face, then your body. Something made her breath hitch, and you saw terror in her eyes. You were reminded of a dirty secret you were supposed to hide, but it was all too late when she held your bleeding hand up and pushed your sleeve to your elbow.

On your wrist exposed the puffy red lines, originated by the handcuffs that were taken off of you less than forty-eight hours ago. There was also a handprint made of red-purple bruises.

Sharon instantly knew there were more on your body.

There was always more. Never-ending.

“Jesus…” She let go of you like she was burned. Hurt, shock, anger, confusion flashed by her face, and she looked for the first time ever, _disoriented_.

She yanked your shirt up. Air hit your bare, trampled skin. Colors drained from her face.

“Y/N, what have you done?”

***

The food had gone cold after you told Sharon everything. There was nothing to tell, really. A deal, a truth, and the price you paid for the truth. You shoved the nutritious ingredients down your mouth, knowing you’d need them, while Sharon left her dinner untouched.

“You’re still in a state of shock, Y/N.” Sharon finally said, “I know because obviously, I’ve been there before.”

You stopped chewing and glared at her. You monitored your feelings. First, there was disappointment. Then relief. And then there was mostly repulsion.

A wave of nausea overcame you. The chicken turned from flavorless to sour in your mouth. You got up. The next thing you knew you were in the bathroom, emptying your stomach. A hand was there to hold your hair back. Another hand rubbed circles on your back. It felt like such a long time ago that you weren’t receiving unwanted touches.

You flipped the lid down and flushed. Sharon was staring at you fervently, but she was gentle when she wiped your mouth with tissues.

“I really don’t deserve you.” She said softly. At this moment, maybe she loved you.

“No, you don’t.”

Your lips moved on their own. Sharon sighed, her hands pausing on your back. You got up and rinsed your mouth. You gaze connected in the mirror. Sharon looked remorseful and older.

“So what’s it gonna be?” A rancid smile reached your face. You already knew Sharon’s answer, you just craved that final blow.

The benevolent mask Sharon had been wearing hardened into an incomprehensible one, the one that she always used to block you out. That was when you knew, Sharon loved you, but you weren’t her first priority.

“You know where the door is.”

You said, and your shoulder bumped into Sharon’s when exited the bathroom.

By the time you threw what was left of the dinner into the compost bin, Sharon was already gone.

***

You never got to meet Mr. Cunningham again. His assistant contacted you the night before your weekly meetings, and said your service would no longer be necessary. Cunningham shut the whole book-project down. It was ungentlemanly of him because he had never acted in haste.

The payment was transferred into your account, all seventy percent of the final payment according to the contract.

There was a storm coming, and it was no doubt related to Sharon.

Three weeks later, a startup struck into the stock market like a supernova, just in time to steal everyone’s attention away from a marginal, mildly successful enterprise merging with a global one.

After all the things you had done, Sharon still lost her empire. On the surface, she lost even after you sold your soul to the devil—signing that godforsaken contract with Mr. C.

But Sharon was clever.

That non-disclosure you signed shared similar content with the one Sharon had with C. Her deal was that she couldn’t let someone else know about her transaction with Cunningham. But that “third party” was limited to legal persons; conflicts of interests, so to speak.

In other words, she dragged you—an innocent bystander—into her war with Cunningham, so she could win by using you.

Either way, she would win, whether Mr. Cunningham had come on to you or not.

You got what you wanted in the deal with Mr. C. You learned what Sharon got in her deal with him: she got Cunningham’s promise to buy her company.

You learned that her deal with Mr. C went both ways: there were no consequences for Sharon to share its content (since you weren’t involved at that time). However, there _were_ consequences for Cunningham if he told you about what he did with Sharon. Since you were already writing his fucking biography then, that was strictly against their contract.

Thus, he broke his deal with Sharon.

He broke it by telling you everything about his atrocities with Sharon. He not only told you. He _demonstrated_ it on you. But it was worth it. Of course it was. You got what you wished for. The truth. The truth was that you were just a chess piece.

You thought you were protecting Sharon when you signed that contract with C. It seemed to be a threat after him letting you know, that he knew what Sharon was at.

Sharon used the loopholes and played a good hand. One month later, that global corporation collapsed. Its investors had all pulled out, coincidentally having their interest and money on that startup that appeared on the market two months ago.

It went all over the news. You traced everything back, and it all made sense. “ _An internal conflict_ ” were the words Alan Cunningham—head of the bankrupted corporation—used in the public statement he issued.

Oh, but you knew better. _Internal conflict_ meant putting countless women into inhuman ordeals, then being afraid that every skeleton would see the light of day.

***

“Have you ever wondered why nothing happened to you after what you’ve done?”

Sharon’s bluntness never ceased to amaze you. There she stood in front of your door, three months after that night you told her to get out. You pretended to think about what she said, while you took the sight of her in.

In blazer, blouse, pencil skirt, and heels, Sharon looked as if she’d just finished a business meeting. She looked perfect.

She was probably referring to you leaking your non-disclosure with her, and yet Cunningham never comes to settle the matter.

You were done wallowing in all of that. You closed the door on her face and unsurprisingly, she blocked it.

“Please, Y/N. Hear me out.”

“What have you done to keep me _safe_? Sign another contract?”

The look on Sharon’s face reminded you of the few times you managed to rouse any genuine reactions out of her. It was different this time; behind her persuasive persona, an eager, crestfallen version of Sharon lurked, like a monster waiting for you to unleash.

That monster growled in defeat when its master remained silent. Sharon hid the dirt she’d been sitting on, just like she had always been.

“Don’t come near me again.”

Setting your jaw, you tried shutting the door but the older woman was as stubborn as you remembered.

“Please, I’m sorry!” She shouldered the door ajar. Sharon always knew what to do or say as she continued, voice trembling, “It…What had happened…was never a part of the plan. I wasn’t expecting any of it.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

You remarked, deriving a great sense of satisfaction when Sharon closed her eyes briefly with hurt. You turned around to let her in, so maybe you could get some more of that.

“I wasn’t expecting Cunningham to act out on you!”

The taller woman sounded exasperated, as she should be. You walked unhurriedly to the sofa. You sat down with your legs crossed. What was Sharon seeing now? A woman who looked sleep-deprived, haggard and cynical? A woman that was no longer worthy of her time?

“You used me. I got hurt. You did nothing. What’s done is done. I don’t see any point of you coming here. What do you want?”

“Believe it or not, my plan was to wait things out.” That rueful look almost didn’t match Sharon. She was always the opposite of being ashamed or humiliated.

“I’d already got you helping me. That things you collected from that biography was more than enough to bring Alan down. He was bound to fall one way or another…I’m sure you’ve followed the news, haven’t you? His corporation was gone.”

You narrowed your eyes at the woman who sat beside you, on the edge of her seat. You wanted to get angry at her. You were so weary of fighting for the truth. At this point, you were willing to believe anything that made sense.

Nothing was more unreal than the reality you lived in.

“So I let him touch me for nothing. Except maybe it sped up your plan somehow.”

“Yes, exactly!” Sharon exclaimed, too invested at the moment to notice the sarcasm, “It’s because of you. I rushed it all for you.”

“Aww, I’m so touched.”

Sharon’s mouth opened and closed when you dragged out a packet of cigarettes. You continued to search from under the couch. Where was that fucking lighter when you needed it?

“You smoke?”

You lit up the cig, not sure why you wanted to laugh. Maybe this was what craziness felt like.

“Guess you don’t know everything about me.”

“I know enough.” Sharon sent you a sharp look, “As a matter of fact, I know you know me enough, too.”

“Stop talking in fucking riddles, Sharon.”

The vapor blurred Sharon’s features; her eyes were the clearest, shining amidst black smokes of chaos. You could tell she really didn’t like the smell of second-hand-smoke.

“You know me enough to understand that I never risk things.”

You took a slow drag. The sharp, hot air of tobacco stung your lungs and forced tears out of your eyes. You let them be. Sharon had seen you in worse times.

 _“If the agenda matches both parties’ interest, then I will take the risk.”_ Stealing Sharon’s line from your best recollection, you drawled, “But it’s always about you. _Your_ interest matters the most.”

Sharon searched your eyes. You looked away and exhaled, cigarette alight in your hands. You never bought an ashtray. You went over to the kitchen so you could flick the cinders in the sink.

“Can I have one of those?”

“You hate smoking.” You answered, not even bothered to spare the other woman a glance.

“How did you know?”

“You told me the last time you fucked me.”

Then it was silence. Dreary interlude. A numb space for you to shrink back to your world, a safe place where nobody could do you harm.

“I showed Alan evidence that he broke the non-disclosure. There was some coercion involved but no one got hurt this time. We…negotiated.”

“Meaning you made deals again, didn’t you?”

“That was one way to put it.” Cautiously, Sharon answered. You chortled. The older woman still wanted to masquerade the truth. It was hilarious.

You finished your cigarette, and craved for another one. You turned around and found the brunet still in your living room, staring at you with puppy-eyes. Your desire for nicotine instantly reclined since you didn’t want to go to the living room.

“You followed the news so you knew what happened. Cunningham practically paid for my new business.”

“So it’s a win for you?”

“Adding the fact that I got all of his investors, it’s almost a successful revenge.”

“Almost?”

That agonizing look consumed Sharon again. You were more perplexed than angry now.

“I still don’t understand what you are doing in my apartment.” Your feet brought you closer to Sharon, “Are you here to confess your sins, tell me that you care for me, and beg for forgiveness?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. What I’ve done…” Sharon trailed off. Her shoulders drooped, and you’d never seen her slouch, “Will never be worthy of your forgiveness.”

“So why the fuck are you here?” You were frustrated, “You have your success, your revenge, and your plan worked out. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to need me!”

Your blood pounded beneath your skull, making your skin too small for your face. You could understand Sharon’s words, but you just couldn’t grasp the meaning of it. Sharon looked as if she had just hunted down a ghost.

She continued, pale as wax, “You need me in your life. It’s who you are. You are so empty, it’s why you’ve been searching that one significant thing to cause you pain, and fill you up. From hiding your sexuality, to marrying a man you didn’t actually love, to taking care of your dying mother, and now to all this.”

You kept shaking your head, lips trembling and hot.

It didn't feel good to have scars ripped open by nightmares.

“Now who’s projecting themselves onto others, huh?” Your retorted, “Just… _stop_. You don’t have emotions, Sharon. You got used to using emotions only to get what you want. You don’t _feel_ like normal people do.”

“People like us don’t have real emotions anymore.”

She stated. It was funny how every time after Sharon got you heated, she would be calmer. It was like you shared a circle of life force.

“Well, are you happy now, that you managed to make me someone like you?”

It was supposed to be mocking as you leaned over the back of the sofa, poking your head out beside Sharon. You sounded coy instead, and it didn’t help with that smile you could no longer hide. It wasn’t a friendly grin, but your expression was theatrical enough to pull at your cheek-muscles and limit your vision.

You didn’t know what you look like now. Between a hatter and a joker, maybe.

On the other hand, Sharon was glad, disbelieved, and disturbed all at once.

“I have really changed you, haven’t I?”

Then she gave an _mmph_ when you pressed your mouth onto hers. It was just flesh, and then some teeth. You didn’t care if she hated tasting tobacco in your mouth. You just kept on kissing her, trying to tell if she’d sucked a dick before she was here, or fucked a random girl in the alleyways. You knew you two were never exclusive because Sharon wouldn’t risk that.

You moved away once you found what you were looking for. While kissing her, you found the box of cigarettes and the lighter on the seat of the couch.

When you walked to the other side of the room, shuffling the packet in your hand, you could _feel_ the astonishment from the older woman.

Maybe she kissed you back, or maybe she didn’t. You couldn’t remember. Either way, a cigarette was going to touch your lips again. You were content for that.

“Damn…” The endpoint of your cigarette caught the flame. You inhaled accordingly, “We were like, the parody of Harley Quinn and the Joker.”

“Something like that.”

Sharon cocked her head, taking your lazy stance in. You did the same, analyzing the other woman. Sharon’s lipstick was ruined, and smudges of red were visible around her mouth. You must look the same.

You didn’t falter under her impenetrable gaze.

“You think they love each other?”

You asked conversationally. Sharon again, didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “I used to believe, defiance is what sets us apart. You believe in the better, while I always choose to sink down with the crowds.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Sharon stood up. She didn’t kick off her heels. She did what you thought she would do—she came over and used her height-advantage to corner you. You blew a stream of smoke on her mouth. She crinkled her nose but didn’t berate you. You giggled, remotely aroused when her heat seeped under your thin shirt.

“You fooled me.” Sharon answered. She trailed the curve of your cheeks, and rubbed her lipstick off your face, “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Please elaborate?” You pouted. Sharon’s hand descended to your neck. You wished she would choke you…that would be so much _fun_. She did something like that; she pressed down so you couldn’t move your head. Your hands fell on the sides of your body.

“See? Just like this.” Sharon added a bit more pressure, locking her thumb and forefinger on your jaw, making you flush, “You know just what I like, so you craft out those images for me. You’re a better actress, and you’re more pathetic, too. Because you don’t even know you are acting.”

“If that’s gonna make you feel better, stick to that.” You yapped; your faces were less than inches apart, “I don’t know why you still try to define me, trying to convince yourself that _you_ got the upper hand. There’s no fucking point, ok? We used each other, and that’s that.”

She stared at you as if she could eat you up. You hissed and sent the cigarette butt falling on the floor; it had burned your finger. Sharon let go of you so you could put your injured finger in your mouth. She pulled your digit out of your mouth, and blew cool air on it.

“You’re right.” Sharon echoed in her own mystic way, “It’s too late.”

For you, there were three ways to interpret what she said. First, _it’s too late_ meant Sharon finally understood you were playing her from the start. It was too late for her to walk away because she was in too deep.

The second explanation: it was too late because you had changed into who Sharon was like, and you were too crazy to remember if you were manipulating Sharon all along, or if it was Sharon who started to play you.

The third explanation: _it’s too late_ meant that after everything that happened, it was too late to walk away, because you became too infatuated and codependent with each other.

You sighed, took her hand, and grasped her tight. Your other hand traced the outline of her lips to get the smears off. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath your finger.

“No. It’s never too late.”

Tired and hopeful—no matter if you had gone mad—you were certain that in this heartbeat you loved her. Sharon could see it. Admiration burned bright and clear in her eyes. One way or another, your devotion was true, manipulations involved or not.

“Yes.” Muttered the brunet before she assuaged you with a long, gentle kiss. You opened your mouth to welcome her velvety tongue, but she only pressed her lips on yours over, over and over again until you were feverish and running out of oxygen. It might be the best way to die.

“Yes to what?”

You asked, flustered and staring owlishly at Sharon. She grinned, and it made a spot in your sternum flutter.

“Harley and the Joker. _Yes_. I think they do love each other.”

At that answer, your heart missed a beat, then continued to thump in fanatically. You hadn’t seen Sharon for so long, it was insane that she was still so beautiful. There were a thousand things you remembered about her, but there were a million things you forgot. You remembered the angle of her brows, the width of her eyes, the height of her nose, the bend and bow of her lips, the pink of her cheeks, the mole near her hairline, but you forgot the silent veins in her temples, the freckles beneath her makeup, the way the lines around her mouth dance when she talked. You remembered how her smile made you feel, but you forgot her smile was like the sun in the dead of winter—warm, tender, unexpected.

It all kicked in: the unbearable grip in your stomach when you wished everything would right itself, knowing it was impossible. The desperation when you knew you had to let Sharon go. The self-hate when you gave up hoping what you couldn’t have. The elation and disappointment when you dreamt about Sharon, night after night, one bad dream after another.

You matched that wild smile on Sharon’s face. She ruined you, and she would make it up to you in her own wonderful, twisted ways.

***

The door to your bedroom was always open, but Sharon closed it this time. It gave the space an extra feel of secrecy. You were super nervous when Sharon held your hand and guided you to your bed. Although you had done this before, this felt like the very first time.

You sat down and stared up at her. Sharon tied up her own hair and you knew what that meant. Her blouse, neat and still tugged, looked form-fitting. There had been many times you curbed the urge to tell her how nice she looked in those business shirts. But you suspected that Sharon knew every one of your kinks.

The older woman stepped out of her heels and kicked them aside. You licked your lips. Sharon smirked. You thought she was about to say something, but she just kept on undressing, which never happened when usually she just stripped your lower section and get things over with.

Now, you may only watch.

Your jaw had dropped to the floor when she removed all of her clothing. As if it couldn’t get steamier, the older woman sashayed toward you and straddled your laps. Sharon was extremely warm. She made you flustered beyond repair.

“What the—”

The gibberish died in your mouth when Sharon cupped your face and kissed you, one final reassurance to make sure you want to keep going. You closed your eyes and let a weak gasp escape your mouth. Your lips found the old rhythm of tongues, training your breathings in togetherness. You inhaled when you pulled back and adjusted to a more intimate angle, and exhaled when you dove in. You let Sharon take the lead; she did so readily by placing her hands upon your shoulder, holding you, securing you in her kiss. You felt spineless after that. Micro-explosions of ecstasies seemed to be exploding in your mouth.

While you were still hazy, Sharon released you and took off your top. She was your puppeteer. The desire to surrender came so strongly that for a second, you were struck numb with libido awakening. You put your hand on Sharon’s naked chest. Her heart was in steady _lub-dub lub-dubs_. You raised your head and reconnected your gaze.

Indecipherable cocoa-browns greeted you first. You wondered what Sharon wanted to hide after seeing your face. You wondered what she was hiding from after everything you’d been through.

Then her expression morphed into a strange version of herself, like she was both in pain and relieved.

“It’s a failure to be unveiled.” Spoke Sharon slowly in grief, like she was ready for doom’s day. You frowned.

“It’s not failure. It’s only a disgrace.” You shrugged, “We are too shameless for our own good.”

Sharon grinned at your quip. You pecked her chin, your neck slightly sore after tilting your head for a while.

“And the world punishes us for blinding us from seeing that _victory_ , when we take the mask off ourselves.”

It was unintentional of you to lay such heavy words. Sharon’s smile became reserved. Wistfulness and care gleamed in her eyes. She never looked more soft and true like she was really _here_ , her mind and body, not a million miles away where she was always planning the next move to dissolve an enemy.

Sharon gently pressed you backward. You felt so hot that you worried if she touched you, she’d get burned.

“Don’t worry,” Sharon read your mind, “I’ll take care of you.”

The air seemed to vibrate with silence. You were so afraid that something might go wrong because this was the first time you allowed yourself to be so _open_ for her. The brunet could tell; she maneuvered her body and hovered over you. You squeezed your eyes shut. Goosebumps broke out on your skin when you could feel Sharon’s body pressed onto yours. She was also burning. It felt nice to connect this way. Sharon felt like silk. When she accidentally brushed her nipple against you, you moaned, close-mouthed. You felt so hot like you could evaporate.

“Let me in, Y/N.” Sharon kissed the crown of your forehead, and murmured, “You can trust me. Relax.”

You let out a jagged breath because how the fuck could she know you were thinking about Cunningham? How could she know you were blocking out the pleasure because it reminded you of the hell you went through?

“You can do this, babe.”

Cooing sweet encouragements next to your ear, Sharon didn’t advance. She just lingered close, her body bare against yours. You could feel your scars rubbing against each other's. That set something loose in your ribcage. Suddenly a burst of emotions tightened your throat. Soundlessly, tears glided down and disappeared into your hair. Sharon combed your hair and pressed snowflake-like kisses on your feverish cheek. You didn’t know why you were crying. You guessed it was a part of the therapy.

“I want you to do things to me.” You rasped, nonsensical, “Please, now, Sharon. Please.”

Dropping a swift kiss on your mouth, Sharon’s muscles flexed deliciously on your skin as she moved south, descending so she could reach your bra. You were delirious with Sharon’s scent and warmth. Mad to prove how cooperative you were, you arched your body to get the bra off. The sports bra tangled a little with your hair, but Sharon shared your eagerness—before you could fling the bra away, Sharon’s mouth had already covered your pebbling nipples.

Sharon tasted you like a cat licking butter. You felt like you could combust with desire when she mouthed your breast, and twirled her tongue on your areola. You groaned when she took your sensitive nipple between her teeth, and added pressure. You buckled, your hand went to her ponytail, and grabbed it, like you could gain control by showing how much you wanted this. Sharon’s face darkened. Her movements quickened, but she took her time doing the same with your right breast. And then some more. She cupped your breasts and massaged them with her able fingers, a little rough. You whimpered. You loved how dedicated and thorough Sharon was.

A vein had appeared on Sharon’s forehead when she worked on the button of your jeans. With the lights that streaked from the living room, you could tell that she was also flustered by her darkened cheeks. It made her cheekbones and jawlines more prominent, like she was a bad witch, or the _femme fatale_ in your story. You propped your upper body up to take a better look at her. Unsmiling, she gazed into your eyes, darted out her tongue and unhurriedly, licked the edge of your underwear. Arousal pooled in your panties, and your jeans felt too tight. You squirmed, hoping Sharon would take your pants off.

She just kept on teasing.

You became frustrated. You started to push the waistband down but Sharon caught your hands, and pinned you down. You growled and thrust into nothing. Sharon smiled faintly that sent a chill down your spine. It would be convincing if her fangs grow right now so she could bite you, and eat you alive.

You fell back to the mattress when Sharon finally stripped you naked. But you were wrong. She wasn’t done with you yet. She didn’t part your legs, she just licked your mound while she alternated with suckles on your tender skin. Impatient, you opened your legs for her and shivered, thinking _fucking hell_ when you could feel you were absolutely dripping.

That was where Sharon started: at your abundant wetness.

Your labia were covered with juices. She licked from there towards your inner thigh, doing it symmetrically to the other direction. Your toes curled with throes of pleasure. It was ridiculous how quickly Sharon managed to get you in this state. Within minutes, you knew you’d be ruining the sheets.

“I love seeing you like this…” Sharon husked, her breath and lips attacking the surface of your womanhood, “…all wet, spread up, just for me.”

She didn’t break eye-contact the whole time and the visage was too much, seeing Sharon working diligently between your legs. You let out a choked scream when she did a move with her lips, tongue and the tip of her nose. Now Sharon’s face was gleaming with your arousal and she seemed to be gloating for it.

Then she started to nip ever so gently at your clit. Your hip sprang up and she caught you with a noisy _slurp_ at your wetness. You flushed hard at that. You tried to get more of her tongue, but Sharon slipped away and continued to tease your pussy-lips, and occasionally your clitoris. You moaned in defeat, your hips crashing down on the mattress. The climax was so close and so hard to reach.

“Please, Sharon…” You panted, “You know I can’t…not if you…”

“I what?”

Sharon smirked. She pushed your legs to an open _M_ shape. You whimpered when she started to bob her head up and down on your engorged nub.

“Not if you didn’t put fingers in me.”

You managed and kicked the remaining caution to the curbs. Sharon cocked her brow appraisingly.

“How many do you want?”

Asked Sharon, feigning innocence as she inserted two fingers in her mouth slowly. You watched as she deepthroated herself. It was excruciating to watch, and erotic as fuck.

“Jesus…” You sputtered, not knowing what to do with your hands, “Two.”

“Two already?” Sharon released her digits and spread them on your opening, “You sure you don’t want me to spread you a bit?”

She purred, dipping one finger in your entrance. You pushed forward, groaning for more. Sharon cooed, filling you up in one swift motion. You closed your eyes with a silent scream. The walls of your pussy fluttered dangerously around her digits. Stars burst beneath your eyelids. You couldn’t believe you were coming already. The knot untied itself in your lower abdomen when you thought you had more control.

Sensing you cramping on her digits, Sharon plunged and secured her mouth on your clit. She did circular motions with her tongue. Your legs twined themselves on Sharon’s back while you wailed into the pillow. White lights— _or was it absolute darkness? —_ robbed your view blank, and your world existed nothing but Sharon—her fingers, her mouth, her tongue. She pushed you towards the edge and made you waited a little longer on the perimeter.

And then you crashed.

You came with a yelp, your thighs clamping on Sharon’s head as your body sprung into an arc. A series of moans followed and you weren’t even sure it was you who made those sounds because you were busy chasing that never-ending pleasure—and pain.

Sharon’s fingers didn’t leave your pussy afterwards, and you knew exactly what she was playing. Something else roared alive inside of you. Your energy was far from being used-up, so you left the bed behind before Sharon could rip a second orgasm out of you. Sharon’s makeup was officially ruined as she wiped your juice off her face. You pushed her away. She sat up with a sly smile.

“Oooh, feisty.”

“Your turn.” You deadpanned and dragged on her wrists. Sharon half-resisted, giggly. You threw her to your previous spot. Sharon landed on her waist, and when she tried to flip around, you stopped her.

“Uh-uh. Stay.”

“What are you gonna do to me?”

Sharon asked playfully, intrigued, turning her head to look at you. You took off her hair tie and used it for yourself. Sharon’s gaze turned heavy, but you were no longer looking at her face. You marveled at what your eyes could reach. Her brown, smooth locks now spilled onto her olive-toned skin, contrasting with her toned, voluptuous back. Cuts and scars may forever be tainting her skin, but her beauty was timeless. A magical entity, like a fairy or an elf, might carry wounds but it was inevitable because they always catch too much attention.

Sharon was perfect, if mankind could ever capture that concept with human body. The curve of her lower back continued her shoulder blades in just the right angles. The roundness of her buttocks and the elongation of her long, shapely legs would make Aphrodite green with envy.

“Like what you see?”

Sharon asked, low and suggestive, pulling you out of your daydream before you started to drool.

“Hell yeah.”

You growled and pounced on her. Sharon let out a combination of a squeal and moan when you brushed her hair sideways, and kissed the nape of her neck. She smelled like cider and vanilla-scented shampoo. You could never get enough of it. The desire to conquer never spiked so high. You almost wished you had a cock so you could fuck her senseless later. That thought frightened you, and you tried to direct your lust elsewhere by leaving a hickey on Sharon’s tender neck.

You could feel her trembling beneath you. You could only see the left side of her features. Her eyes were blissfully closed, and it made your stomach did a summersault. If you were a wolf, you wanted to howl now to declare that this woman was yours. She was so vulnerable and helpless at your disposal; the need to mark Sharon came stronger than before.

It occurred to you: you’d always been wanting to do this as you sank your teeth down Sharon’s shoulder. She jolted and moaned. You didn’t ask if you could do that again, because you knew you had to. You soothed over that bite with your lips. Sharon’s breaths became labored.

You made your path clear and simple: you scraped down, ascending and descending the slants and hills of Sharon’s back. Sharon was quiet with anticipation. You could feel it. It charged the air with a yearning, nervous buzz. You swept the tangled sheets away, so you could grab a pillow hidden under it.

“Up.” You ordered, shoving that pillow below Sharon’s stomach. The older woman complied and was for the first time, wordless.

It wasn’t crude to say that Sharon looked sexy with her face down and ass up, because the sight was truely, vulgar. You didn’t touch her right away. You let the moment settle and stretch, letting the defenseless woman feel the weight of your impatient, expectant gaze.

“Please.” She finally said, her voice a little tremulous, “Touch me.”

“Spread your legs.”

Your voice was thick and unrecognizable. An alter-ego had occupied your body; you wanted nothing more than to see Sharon crumble and shake. Sharon let out a long breath, used her knees as support, and parted her legs.

“That’s a good girl.” Out of nowhere, you praised and she whimpered. You grabbed onto her buttocks and fondled the softness. You could smell her arousal, and you were sure she was excited. You swiped your finger at her glistening entrance and she jumped, not expecting you to act so quickly. This was just the beginning.

Sharon was wetter than you thought. You slapped her right ass-cheek. The crisp _smack_ reverberated in the room. To your astonishment, after a beat, Sharon mewled as the pain was being registered.

“So wet without my permission…” You palmed Sharon’s wetness and then slapped on that same spot again, harder than before. The muscles of her body contorted. She whined. A handprint of redness appeared on her bum. You leveled your head to her smarting skin and blew a stream of air on it, while your hand went to cup her pussy. She pushed back to your palm, even wetter.

You whisked your hand away and gave her a hard slap on her left butt-cheek.

“Did I say you could do that?” You growled, ready to give her another slap but then on second thought, you slapped her on the drenched pussy. A combination of scream and moan was being torn out of Sharon’s throat, a sound you’d never heard before. She must be really close.

You gave some more teasing slaps on Sharon’s drooling cunt. Her legs snapped close, trying to trap your hand there. That was when you had enough.

“Get up.” You barked. Sharon turned around to see what she was supposed to do. Her pupils were dilated and her features were slackened. You yanked at the side of her body and she moved sluggishly. Not until you collected a handful of her hair and pulled her flush against you, did she finally understood what you were doing.

She complied with enthusiasm. You pulled the pillow to knelt on it so you could be several inches taller than Sharon. You pressed on her back, your chin on the nook of her neck just tight. You cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples. Sharon found your hand and grabbed it in vain, her head rolling backward and leaned on your shoulder. You licked her exposed neck and nipped the skin there. Sharon was making rich, incoherent noises of _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s.

And you couldn’t wait any longer. With her writing hotly in your hold, you decided it was time to focus on her pussy.

She parted her legs further to welcome any kind of friction. You rubbed at her clit and she started to hump your fingers, moaning, her hand reaching blindly at your waist for support. Her nails cut into your skin. You inserted two fingers in her entrance without preamble. Sharon’s pussy was spongy and warm; squelching sounds happened as you plunged, in and out of her heat. Your clutched her abdomen to steady her, and you could feel the muscles tensing there.

You remembered what would make her come, so you could avoid that entirely.

Sharon moaned in disappointment. She clasped at your hand and tried to make you go faster. You grabbed her throat and showed her her place. You didn’t choke her, but it was enough to make her save unnecessary movements that earned her nothing.

“You are going to come for me—” Your pace was now regular, while your left hand climbed down from her neck to her clit, “—when I say so. Is that clear?”

Sharon nodded without hesitation, relieved that you were finally granting her the release. She found your thighs for support when you began to rub her clit. You could feel Sharon’s walls widening up for you. Her body swayed in sync with your motions. When you plunge in, she pivoted to swallow your digits. When you retreated, she shuffled backward, her whole body taut and flushed for more stimulation. She cussed when occasionally you brushed over her G-spot. You didn’t accelerate, but you did pump harder once her arousal soaked your fingers.

You were almost satisfied when you stretched her with the third finger, no resistance following. Sharon screamed. Her body convulsed. This time you didn’t have to do more things (you wanted to though) to make her come. You just kept your fingers plunging deep in her squirming pussy, rubbing her clit at the same time. Sharon was already so tight around your digits. She was trying her hardest to hold back.

“Do you want to come already?” You said breathily, giving Sharon a hard bite on her neck. She immediately clenched on your fingers with a howl. Her grip on you became painful. She stilled her body as if it would stop her from coming, but desire was a treacherous thing. Her hips had thoughts of their own. She gyrated, quivering against your body. You licked from the root of her neck to her ears, and growled, “Then _come_.”

Her cries were so loud that you were sure the whole building could hear. She curled up for several seconds, and then her body arched and splayed open as if the climax was too much. You didn’t relent; your hands were still working in her spasming pussy and swollen clit. Her orgasm was long and harsh. She tossed her head back, mouthing an “o” while her face was distorted, her eyes squinting close. You could see from above that her chest was flushed, and her lower belly was fluttering with the orgasm.

It was the most enjoyable thing, making Sharon come, and you wished you could do that forever.

Sharon laughed and giggled hysterically afterward. You mirrored her reaction. Discovering the pillows from the ground, you fell back to bed, bodies covered with sweat, your chests still heaving in the residual craze.

“Oh my fucking god.” Sharon wheezed weakly, “How did you learn to do that?”

“Again, porn is criminally underrated.”

You closed your eyes, taking a minute to soak in the endorphin-filled peace. Weariness coiled beneath your eyes. You flipped to Sharon’s side and gazed at her.

Sharon’s presence was too concrete that it felt surreal, and fuck, she looked way too good to be here, in your bed, by your side, breaths still a little quick. Her hair framed her face in a disheveled fashion. The delicate eye makeup she wore was now smeared into a wild smokey-effect. Her lipstick was gone, dispersed on your bodies. Her blush was replaced with that breathtaking after-sex-glow on her cheeks. Serene lights lit up her hazy eyes into shades of depth, each one speaking more than all the pillow talks you had combined. A strange easiness loosened the harsh lines around her lips, quirking her mouth slightly—just slightly—so that it looked like she was smiling. You disciplined your breathing and decided it was now or never.

“What does this mean?” You asked, clearing your throat, “Did anything change at all?”

Sharon turned to you, her expression solidifying. It didn’t look like she was plotting anything. She just took a moment to organize her words.

“Of course it does. It changes everything.”

Her tone was softer than you anticipated. You sucked a deep breath because you’d unknowingly stopped breathing. Sharon noticed that. A small, hesitant smile jumped onto her face, like she was also not expecting your reaction and the outcome of this talk.

You blushed to your surprise. Sharon’s smile widened. She inched closer, her hair making soft rustlings with the pillow, and kissed you.

It was a calm, simultaneous kiss. You both decided to just feel the pressure of your lips pressing against each other’s; you needed nothing more. Sharon brushed your hair out of your face, and caressed your cheek after you broke apart. Your noses nearly brushing, you could hear sets of heartbeats and your steady breathing. You waited for things to go awry; they always did. You waited for the knife to fall at your guillotine. You waited for the warm sea in Sharon’s eyes to froze into another wall of glass.

But she just gazed at you, unfazed. A thought shot through your head, and you felt like you were being electrocuted— _Sharon may not be difficult to understand at all._

Before you could regret not saying anything, you answered, “Not every story could end with a meaningful look, a passionate kiss, or sex that never ends.”

Sharon just shook her head. Your gaze fleeted away. Naturally, you were scared. The brunet started to comb your hair behind your hair. She understood.

“Am I someone like anyone you’d ever written in your tropes?”

“Hey, I tried my best to avoid tropes, ok?” You protested, grinning feebly. And then you toned down your smile, “You’re like no one I’ve ever met. And you are…” You trailed off a bit and looked into Sharon’s eyes, “…you are _more_.”

Sharon blinked, taken aback. Her eyes became a little foggy.

“Let’s write chapters instead of a story, shall we?”

She offered, a frog in her throat. You nodded and smiled, eyes blurry also. Sharon exhaled and tucked her head in the narrow of your neck and shoulder. You lay on your back again for her to get a more comfortable space. It struck you that Sharon, for the first time, was going to stay the night.

It didn’t make you feel happy exactly, because happiness was something you’d lost long ago, and you weren’t sure you would ever get it back. You just felt tremendously weightless. Free.

“Will we regret this in the morning?”

You murmured, closing your eyes. You could fall asleep within a minute.

“Only one way to find out.”

Sharon might have answered that, or it might be you dreaming about her saying that, where after a hundred days you finally stopped dreaming about Cunningham, and started to dream about something else. Something more beautiful. Something wonderful.

_Hope._

_~Fin~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's~ I promise I will compensate you with fluffier contents after this one...(sighs in exhaustion  
> Plz tell me what you think  
> Comments, kudos, and suggestions are welcomed :))

**Author's Note:**

> After I did a Tarja/OC fic, I thought I HAD to do a Sharon/OC too!  
> It took me forever to come up with this story, because I am trying as hard as I can to avoid tropes and it leads me to writing this dark and slightly twisted fic. Ooops.  
> Enjoy reading : )


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